Testing His Wings
by AM83220
Summary: Sequel to "The Icarus Reversal"
1. Chapter 1

**Testing His Wings**

**Notes**: This story is a sequel to the "The Icarus Reversal", a massive crossover which is nevertheless listed in the non-crossover Power Rangers section of this site, with Justin Stewart as a character.

If you haven't read the prior work, you're going to be completely lost; please seek it out now and see if it interests you enough for you to finish it. For those who have already read the "The Icarus Reversal", enjoy, and I'd love some feedback!

Finally, to all four of you who voted in my poll in favor of a sequel, I hope this tale lives up to your expectations.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The swords clashed together less than two inches from Justin Stewart's face. The fourteen year-old backpedaled, furiously blinking away the perspiration which had run down into his eyes. His adversary followed up at once, giving him no time to rest or regroup.

His arm burning with fatigue, Justin struggled to block the powerful slashes and thrusts of the opposing blade. He still hadn't completely adapted to the different balance and weight of his current weapon, and after walking for most of the day his energy levels were low. The former Ranger's opponent, by contrast, still seemed fresh and was taking full advantage of his longer reach, greater skill, and Justin's current weaknesses. It was all the adolescent could do to keep up his defenses, much less generate any form of offense.

He was losing, and his mind raced frantically for a way to change that. He considered and discarded several stratagems, each one either something he was too tired to do properly or something he'd already tried.

The inevitable end at least came with merciful swiftness. Falling for a feint to the left, Justin was unable to stop his opponent's sword as it twisted back and plunged toward his chest. The tip stopped an instant before it would have touched the teenager's rough shirt. It remained there for a single second before being withdrawn.

Panting slightly Justin lowered his own weapon and glanced up at his sparring partner. Solan's beyond shoulder-length blond hair framed his happily flushed countenance. He wore a wild grin and his blue eyes were bright with excitement; he never looked as vibrant and alive as he did when he'd been fighting. This time Justin was relieved to find no sign of guilt in his friend's expression.

Relaxing from his battle stance the taller boy brought up and sheathed his sword in a single fluid movement. Justin did the same, returning the weapon to a scabbard hanging at his left hip rather than on his back.

"Better that time," Solan noted approvingly. "You're not fully comfortable with your sword yet, though, and you still need to improve your footwork. Do you want me to show you?" he asked.

There wasn't any condescension or gloating in his voice, Justin reflected; only the confident assessment of an expert and an earnest desire to help. It made what he had to say considerably easier to take.

Or perhaps he was simply getting used to being beaten by the twelve year-old. He had yet to discover a single physical activity in which he could come close to besting the Grecian boy, in spite of his age advantage. Even in a village game very much like soccer, his favorite sport, he had been thoroughly owned by his friend. Conscious though he was of Solan's artificial enhancement, Justin still found his own inability to compete frustrating. It actually made him feel a rueful sympathy for some of the Angel Grove High students he'd met in his freshman year, the ones who'd seemed bothered by having him in their class.

At the time, desperately wishing he could fit in, he hadn't been able to understand what their problem was; now he thought he did. It wasn't based on anything rational, but was instead a matter of pure emotion. In short, it was fundamentally unsettling to be surpassed by someone who was years younger than you were. It made you feel inadequate, inferior, much more so than if it had been a peer who'd outperformed you. You felt genuinely threatened, regardless of how ridiculous that feeling might be. Of course in this case he had much more reason to feel threatened by Solan's physical prowess than his classmates had ever had to feel menaced by his mental acuity.

Shaking his head in conscious rejection of that bitter, unfair thought, Justin turned the gesture into an answer to his friend's question.

"No, I'm beat," he explained. "Go ahead with the rest of your routine; you can show me tomorrow."

Nodding in acknowledgement the heavily-muscled preteen turned and walked over to a nearby tree with a sturdy branch about seven feet up the trunk. Leaping upward he seized hold of it and began a series of brisk one-armed pull-ups. Justin sat down at the base of another tree and shut his eyes. This wasn't his day for exercise, so he could rest a bit before getting started on his own work.

They'd made relatively good time today, the former Ranger thought. At this rate they should make it to Eion tomorrow and from there hopefully reach Athens by ship in under a week. They had both agreed on the city-state as their most logical destination; information about the situation in much of the rest of Greece could be found there and they could get a good idea of where Solan was most needed. Visiting this center of learning would also serve Justin's goal.

The genius teen had deliberated long and hard about how best to spread his knowledge among the people of this land. The idea of telling the truth had been considered and almost immediately dismissed; without any evidence of his alternate world future he'd be thought mad. He could always pose as a prophet, but the idea of such cruel deception made him extremely uncomfortable. Yes, it would be for the people's good, but that didn't make it _right_. He couldn't advance his ends through evil means, or else what would separate him from "Archon"? The god had justified his lies to the Warrior Prince on the grounds that they were done for Solan's benefit and Justin was not about to follow in those footsteps.

He had finally concluded that the best way to spread his knowledge was to impart it to those already respected for their intellect: philosophers. Once they had accepted what he had to say they could disseminate it to the rest of the people.

The process would unfortunately be a lengthy one; he had fully mastered neither spoken nor written Greek, and he needed to be fluent in both if he wanted to be taken seriously. Then, too, it would certainly help in his initial approach if he could talk with his chosen philosophers about their writings, which first required being able to fully read and comprehend those writings. Finally he had to organize and prioritize the vast mass of information he wanted to impart. It was frustrating to contemplate how long all of this would take, but he couldn't simply dump his 20th century learning on everyone and expect them to believe it; he needed to operate through the existing intellectual system.

Rising Justin strode over to where their backpacks lay and retrieved his flint, steel and a torch. Plunging the shaft of the torch into the soft soil at the edge of the woods, he tried to light it with the flint and steel, succeeding on his seventh strike. With the problem of the day's fading light remedied, he returned the rock and metal to his backpack and detached his bedroll from the bottom, unrolling it near the torch. Then he took out one of the vocabulary-building sheets Sasparion had given him as a parting gift and settled down on his primitive sleeping bag. After finishing with training and sparring he usually studied his speech and literacy while Solan continued practicing and exercising. There was really nothing else for him to do during those time periods, and giving his mind something to occupy itself with kept him from brooding.

Justin's initial realization that he was trapped in this dimension had left him mired in complete despair. His eventual reconciliation with Solan, however, had given him a friend again and their subsequent conversation had provided him with a new goal for his life, a new purpose. With Solan's steadfast support and the motivation of his mission he had managed to break out of the near-suicidal depression surrounding him.

That didn't mean he was anywhere near back to normal. He'd lost his entire _world_, along with everyone he'd known there, and the agonizing awareness of that fact was always with him. Emotionally speaking each day remained a struggle to keep his head above water, to avoid tumbling anew into the black pit he'd crawled out from. Beginning their journey today had made him feel better than he had at any time since his arrival, but he didn't trust his mood to last. Better to engage his mind than allow it to wander down inevitably painful paths.

Darkness had long since fully fallen when the former Ranger at last put the parchment down and rubbed at his eyes. He whispered aloud all of the new words he'd studied, checking his pronunciation and making sure he had committed them to memory. While doing so his gaze inevitably strayed to the figure at the very edge of the light. He couldn't make out any details, but he could hear his companion's labored breathing and see Solan doing push-up after push-up.

Two months ago, when he had resumed karate practice and begun learning Solan's style of unarmed combat, he'd been a little resentful of how hard his friend had pushed him. Easy for Solan to be the unyielding taskmaster! Look at how physically superior and skilled "Archon" had made him, all without the slightest effort on his part! How could he understand the difficulty of learning and building yourself up the natural way?

This conviction had persisted until he'd first observed one of Solan's own training and exercise sessions; merely _watching_ it had left him feeling worn out! It became apparent then that, if anything, the young Warrior Prince had been going easy on him.

The twelve year-old had first executed a dozen sword and close combat drills. Then he practiced throwing his chakram twenty-five times with each hand. Lastly came the conditioning; through performing seemingly innumerable push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, and back-flips Solan worked himself to the very edge of exhaustion, straining to reach and extend his body's limits. When he finished he was drenched in perspiration, unsteady on his feet and appeared to be on the literal verge of collapse.

Unsure what to do, Justin had anxiously asked, "Solan, are you all right?"

A jerky nod had been his answer, accompanied a few seconds later by the whispered words, "I'm fine. I'll feel better after I bathe in the lake."

"You don't have to wear yourself out like that! You're going to get hurt," Justin had warned him.

"No, I do have to!" the twelve year-old had insisted with sudden passion. "In my memories sessions like this are how I got to where I am now. I need to do this to maintain myself and my skills."

Upon hearing these Justin had flashed back to the final moments of his augmented strength, two years ago. He had plaintively expressed to T.J. the dreams he'd harbored, how he wanted to break records and win medals. The Red Ranger had replied, "Justin, listen to me. When you get big, you'll train hard! Then it will really be you winning those medals."

Solan hadn't reached his current level of physical development and expertise on his own merits; like Justin's super-strength, he had been given those benefits by an outside force. One could argue then that this wasn't truly "him", anymore than the little Hercules he had been had really been Justin. No one, however, could dispute the fact that Solan was working very, _very_ hard to keep what he had been given.

Impressed and somewhat abashed by his friend's unyielding determination and stoic toughness, Justin had picked up the pace of his own efforts. In fact he thought he was in better shape now than before his abduction. He was also thinner, maybe too much so; he had yet to adjust to the food here, and he was sure that both he and Solan needed more protein in their diet to properly fuel their physical growth. When they reached Eion he'd see what he could do about that.

Glancing back down at his sheet Justin resumed his studying while Solan continued to tortuously force his broad, muscled frame up and down. So the early evening passed for the two child prodigies, each one busily engaged in utilizing and honing his respective gift.

Justin finished up before Solan did and spent the remainder of his time in meditation. Completing that as well he stripped down and covered himself with his blanket. The twelve year-old walked slowly over to his pack and took out a woolen cloth which he used to wipe away his perspiration. Justin knew the preteen preferred to soak after a workout, but there didn't seem to be any lakes or rivers in the immediate area. Spartan as life in the Centaur village had been, being on the road was clearly going to mean adapting to a new level of primitive.

As Justin contemplated that depressing prospect, Solan spread his own bedroll on the ground, removed his boots and stripped off his cross-belts, laying them carefully atop his backpack. Then he extinguished the torch by smothering the flame with dirt.

"Good night, Justin," he offered as he stretched out on his bedroll.

"Sweet dreams," the former Ranger replied.

Before they left Justin had wondered if they should sleep in shifts, taking turns keeping watch, but Sasparion had assured him that would be a waste of time and energy. There were no wild animals that would threaten them and bandits were very unlikely to come upon them in the night; they tended to be asleep then like everyone else.

The news had come as a relief, since he hadn't been looking forward to getting only a few hours sleep at a time or silently staring out into the darkness for long stretches, with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

There was one thing here worth staring at in the evening, though, and Justin turned his eyes upward to admire the shining tapestry of the night sky. After his friends had gone into space to search for Zordon he had frequently found himself gazing up at the stars, wondering which one they were nearest to at the time and fervently hoping they were okay. His brief reunion with them, courtesy of Storm Blaster, had eased his fears for their safety, but he had nonetheless continued searching the heavens. Doing so now served as both a comfort and a reminder of how far away he was from his Earth. This world had the same constellations he'd come to know, but the stars themselves appeared brighter and more numerous than they'd ever been at home. They also seemed more beautiful, maybe because he knew they were utterly outside of his reach.

Rolling over onto his left side, Justin curled up under his blanket and quietly went to sleep.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The morning's light on his face quickly roused Solan from his slumber. Sitting up he yawned and stretched extensively, deliberately working out any kinks from last night. His tanned skin gleamed like burnished copper in the bright sunshine, though the chill in the fall air brought out a rash of goosebumps on his flesh.

Standing up he slipped his boots back on and donned his cross-belts again. As always the weight of his sword in his back scabbard and his chakram on his belt filled him with an odd sense of . . . completion. It was as though his weapons were a part of him. Did all warriors feel this way? He'd have to ask Justin about that.

No, no he wouldn't. Not when all of Justin's weapons had been lost; not when the teenager possessed only a centaur-forged sword which he was still getting used to.

The twelve year-old sighed, his good mood momentarily eclipsed. It was hard for him to catch in advance words which might upset Justin, especially since directness was part of his nature. At least he'd managed it this time, so he wouldn't hurt his friend during their first full morning on the road.

On the road! Just thinking of the phrase was enough to restore Solan's spirits. Difficult as it was to believe, they had finally begun their journey and the sheer excitement kindled by that knowledge refused to go away. Justin felt it too, he was sure of it; his friend had looked as happy yesterday as he'd ever seen the older boy.

Whistling cheerily he extracted their breakfast from his backpack along with his water-skin. Justin muttered something in his sleep and rolled over. Over the past few months the teenager had gradually grown accustomed to the Grecian schedule of sleeping and rising, but he didn't exactly spring out of bed at the start of each new day.

"Justin," the preteen called out softly. "Justin, it's time to get up!" He knew he could safely touch Justin to awaken the Ranger, but since the reverse certainly wasn't true he tried to avoid doing so. "Rise and shine!" he called out, a saying he had picked up from his friend.

With a moan Justin sat up, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

"Did you sleep well?" the Prince of Warriors enquired, somewhat anxiously, as his friend got dressed. It had been Justin's first time sleeping outside and his dreams had often been troubled since he arrived in this world. Being a light sleeper Solan would have reacted to a cry or sob, but Justin could have had a nightmare without giving vent to either.

"Yeah, I was fine. You?"

"Like Morpheus himself blessed me," Solan assured him, continuing to lay out their breakfast between them. Reaching out Justin snagged one of the pieces of bread dipped in wine and bit it in half. Solan did likewise and for the next few minutes the only sounds were those of hungry boys eating their fill.

Accomplishing that goal had grown markedly more difficult for Solan than it used to be. Since his _change_ his appetite had increased considerably. Not to the level of a centaur of course, but still quite a jump. He had told Justin and his friend had said something about his metabolism and beginning puberty and his body needing more tinder. The essence seemed to be that it was something he would have to get used to and nothing for him to worry about.

Once they'd finished breakfast the Grecian boy was quick to repack his water-skin and roll up his bedding. He brought his backpack into place and looked over to see Justin still sitting on a bedroll and staring at him.

"Eager for us to be on our way?" the fourteen year-old asked dryly.

"Yes!" Solan answered. "Aren't you? Don't you want to reach Athens as quickly as we can so we can discover what awaits us there? So we can learn who you should talk to and find out who needs our help?"

To his gratification a small smile spread across Justin's face in response to his questions.

"Yes, I do want that," the older boy replied, standing and starting to roll up his bedroll. He tied it to the bottom of his backpack with the straps dangling there and lifted the combination onto his shoulders. "Let's go!"

The two set off again along the road, Solan in the lead. Although his pack was much larger and heavier than the one carried by his companion, he again had to make a conscious effort to slow his pace to match Justin's. He'd first realized the necessity for this yesterday, when the teenager had proven unable to keep up with him. They had also been forced to stop for longer and more numerous rest breaks than the young prince would have preferred.

The slower than expected progress was frustrating and he had been genuinely irritated at being forced to walk at less than his usual speed. It had almost made him feel _confined_, an exceedingly unpleasant sensation which was already starting to return.

He had decided not to mention any of this to Justin. Telling the teenager would only make him feel bad and there wasn't anything he could do about it; he was already going as fast as he could. He simply didn't have the energy or endurance Solan did, and so there was little choice but to accept this minor annoyance.

As they walked he was glad to note that Justin was continuing to appreciate the natural scenery visible from the road. Whenever something about his world could please his friend, Solan counted it as a victory.

Late in the morning, as the wilderness gave way to farms, they began encountering fellow travelers. The first were a pair of men in their twenties, similar enough in features to be brothers, heading the opposite way along this narrow tract of a road. They rode in a fine chariot, pulled by two handsome, chestnut-brown horses. Solan had stepped aside to let them pass, glancing back to see that Justin did likewise, before raising his hand and calling out a greeting. The man holding the reins looked at him and then immediately lashed the horses. They sped up from a canter to a gallop and the chariot thundered past both boys.

Having never traveled outside of his village before, he had little knowledge about or understanding of the standards of behavior in the rest of Greece; he knew only what was accepted and customary among the Centaurs. His judgment might thus be undermined by his ignorance (and spending so much time with Justin had made it painfully clear just how ignorant he was), but this action nonetheless struck him as inexcusably rude.

Continuing onward they shortly came upon another man, walking toward them alongside a cart pulled by a donkey. His skin was very darkly tanned by the sun, his face weathered, and his clothes were rough wool. His hair was beginning to gray and his hand on the donkey's bridle was not altogether steady as he drew level with them on their right.

Again Solan called out his greeting and the man hesitated long seconds before returning it. He pulled at his donkey to urge it forward as Solan halted and asked him, "Where are you bound?"

He assumed the answer was one of the nearby farms, and thus asked the question more as a polite beginning to a conversation than anything else. He would have liked to talk to this man about Eion and what they could expect there, but the response foreclosed that possibility.

"What business is it of yours?" the old man challenged from the other side of his donkey. His tone was defiant, though there was a quaver beneath it.

Solan was growing weary of this inexplicable rudeness. The Centaurs had always courteously received travelers; were things really that different in other communities? If so devoting his life to the protection of his fellow Greeks was going to be a less fulfilling quest than he had thought.

Justin slid halfway in front of him and took over the conversation.

"No business of ours," the teenager admitted soothingly, his arms spread and empty palms held open. "We are travelers on our way to Athens. We hoped to find a ship to take us there in Eion. You have come from Eion?"

The man licked his lips and turned back toward them, having by now passed them. "Yes, I came from Eion. You might find passage on a merchant ship there." With that said he turned back around and hurried on his way.

They watched him go in silence, along with the donkey and the empty cart.

"I didn't know people outside my village were so unfriendly," Solan grumbled.

Justin glanced at him sharply. "Unfriendly?" he echoed, sounding as if he didn't understand.

"Why else would they treat travelers so?" the twelve year-old demanded indignantly.

"You mean you think he and the charioteers acted that way because-" Justin's question ended abruptly as without warning he burst out laughing.

Solan started, genuinely afraid for an instant, but this wasn't the exhausted, bitter laughter Justin had given vent to in the arena. It was true laughter, such as he'd never in this world heard from his friend. The sound gladdened his heart, though he had a sinking suspicion that the joke was somehow on him.

He waited for Justin to explain, but the Ranger continued to chortle. Folding his muscular arms over his deep chest, he arched an eyebrow and asked, "What's so funny?"

To his chagrin Justin took one look at him and began laughing even harder!

"That's it!" he sputtered, pointing with his right hand. "That's it exactly!" The teenager was literally bent double from the force of his mirth now, tears streaming down his cheeks.

Resisting with some effort the urge to shake his friend, Solan ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to know what was going on! Then, too, he didn't like being laughed at, not even by Justin.

Gradually the Ranger's laughter lessened and petered out, though he still had one arm slung around his no doubt aching midsection. His eyes were dancing when he looked up at Solan, and the sight helped to quell the younger, bigger boy's disgruntlement.

"The men in the chariot looked wealthy, right?" Justin asked.

Though he didn't understand why it should matter one way or the other, Solan nodded in agreement. Growing up with centaurs had taught him a lot about horses, and the two pulling the chariot had appeared to be fine specimens in the prime of their lives, animals of considerable value. The chariot itself had also obviously been had at no small price.

"Next we met the man coming from Eion with the empty cart. He didn't look like he had a lot of money, but he could have sold what was in that cart at the city, couldn't he?"

"Yes," the Grecian concurred, still unable to see a point to any of this.

"So they all came along this road and saw you coming the other way," Justin went on. Though his mouth was still turned up at the corners, there was sympathy in the fourteen year-old's voice as he finished his explanation. "Solan, they were afraid you were going to rob them."

For several seconds Solan could only gape at Justin as his incredulity warred with his outrage. "Why would they think that?" he finally asked, in a tone which was equal parts plaintive and angry.

"Look at yourself!" Justin urged. "You're wearing cross-belts with a sword sheathed at your back and a chakram hanging from your belt. Were any of the men we saw armed? Do ordinary Grecians go around carrying weapons? Then there's the way you move, and even how you stand!"

"What's wrong with how I move and stand?" Solan cried.

"Your body language screams that you're a warrior, and you're sure as hell built like one! Add that to your clothes and weapons and the end result is pretty intimidating. A lot of people are going to assume you're a predator, someone they should fear."

"Thanks for telling me," the preteen replied numbly. Turning in the direction of Eion he began walking again, more swiftly than before, while inwardly trying to come to terms with this distressing new information. During the last couple days of the tournament he'd taken a vicious satisfaction in sowing terror among those who had once so frightened him. It had seemed a fitting revenge and had made him feel proud and powerful. In Justin's case those feelings had turned to shame when he had realized how badly he'd misjudged the Ranger.

The Centaurs had greeted him with fear upon his return, but that was because as far as they knew, he'd come back from the dead! He'd appreciated how their emotions had kept them from questioning his story, but he certainly hadn't enjoyed it. In fact it had been decidedly uncomfortable to see those he'd known all his life regard him with awe and trepidation.

And of course he had no desire to for the average Grecian to be afraid of him. He had hoped to eventually be looked on as one of Greece's protectors, a symbol of hope and safety, like the Rangers in Justin's world or like Hercules. The thought that his mere appearance would kindle fright in those he wished to help was profoundly disheartening, but it was not something he could dispute; Justin had spoken with too much force and certitude for him to doubt his friend's conclusion.

The Warrior Prince came to a sudden stop, barely hearing Justin's question about whether he was okay. A terrible possibility had occurred to him, one he didn't even wish to speak aloud. Yet keeping silent wouldn't make it go away, and he would have no peace until he knew the truth. Looking down he met Justin's concerned gaze and asked the question.

"Justin, are you still afraid of me?"

Initially the teenager appeared thunderstruck; then his entire facial expression went blank. Solan stood still as a statue, never taking his eyes from Justin's face. His stomach churned unpleasantly as the period of silence stretched on and on. He shouldn't have gone into this. He should have left well enough alone! Except that he couldn't. This was an answer he had to have, because it went to the root of everything between them.

There were several things he wanted from Justin. He desperately craved the older boy's companionship and friendship. He desired Justin's approval and he longed to know he had the Ranger's respect. He even dreamed of one day winning the fourteen year-old's admiration. The one thing he didn't want from Justin, however, was fear. Gods above, he didn't want Justin to be afraid of him!

If Justin was still fearful of him then Solan could never have anything he had hoped for from the teenager. Friends didn't feel badly toward one another and Justin's continued fear would prove their friendship to be fatally flawed.

"I've seen what you're capable of, Solan," Justin said in a quiet tone which only increased the twelve year-old's dread. "I had to fight you more than once, and every time you stomped me."

"You nearly killed me in the tournament, and you still could. I've sparred with you enough to know I couldn't stop you from taking my life if you wanted it. Hand-to-hand or sword, you'd win either way."

The Prince of Warriors began to tremble ever so slightly as Justin's cool, dispassionate words figuratively flayed him.

"I don't fear you, though, because I trust you! I trust that you're my friend and that you'd never deliberately hurt me again. I trust you."

Relieved beyond measure by what he'd heard Solan's entire body relaxed and he let out the breath he'd been unconsciously holding since Justin started speaking. He'd _needed_ that confirmation, needed to know for sure that Justin didn't still see him as a possible threat. His own fear on that score had been laid to rest by his friend's words.

"It's strangers who will be afraid of you, Solan; not those who know you," Justin gently concluded.

Solan could only nod sharply, not willing to risk his voice's steadiness. Justin seemed to understand and turned to resume walking along the road. Solan fell in beside him.

"I don't want to cause fear in others," the Grecian boy admitted. "Do you think I should wear different clothing?"

He hated the very idea, as his cross-belts were comfortable and didn't impair his movement in any way. Still, it if was what was needed . . .

The brown-haired boy shook his head in reply. "You could try that, but I don't think changing your clothes alone will make much difference. It'll be less of an issue when we reach the city; people will feel safer there than on the road. And you should probably try smiling more. Smiling helps put people at ease. Don't do it when we're talking to the captain of the ship we decide to take, though."

"Why not?"

"Because we have to negotiate a price with him and we'll probably get a better deal if you act all cold and scary."

Surprised and offended he turned to regard his friend, only to see Justin grinning mischievously at him.

Recognizing the joke and still slightly giddy with relief and the release of tension, Solan did something he wouldn't have dreamed of doing even five minutes ago: he reached over and with one hard shove sent the smaller boy sprawling into the dirt.


	2. Chapter 2

They came within sight of their destination less than half an hour later. Large walls of reddish mud brick hid most of the structures within Eion from view, though the ships at anchor in the harbor were clearly visible. There were half a dozen, of two basic types: sleek, rectangular oared galleys lying low in the water and wide, deep-hulled triple-masted vessels. The city was bisected by the Styrmon River, which flowed beneath a hole in the northern wall before emptying out into the Aegean Sea. Up ahead on the left side of the road was a sizeable necropolis.

A few miles to the north, set on a plateau at the foot of Mt. Pangaion and nestled in a westward curve of the river, stood the city of Amphipolis.

Amphipolis was his mother's home town.

Solan was suddenly tempted to argue for a change in their plans. Why not make a brief detour to Amphipolis, just long enough to make sure his mother wasn't there? It was not yet noon, and they could make it to the city and back in only a couple of hours. If Xena wasn't present, fine; if she was . . . then what would happen?

Could he prevail in combat against her? "Archon" had counseled him to wait three years before facing his mother and, much as he loathed his alternate self, it was probably wise advice. Despite all he had gained she still held a substantial edge over him in age and experience. And if he fought her and lost, what would become of Justin? His friend would be left utterly alone in an alien world. He would never have the chance to return the teen home, as he hoped one day to do.

For that matter, what might happen to the Ranger _during_ the fight? Would Justin be willing to allow him to duel his mother alone? Or would his friend insist on trying to help him? Xena could easily injure or even kill Justin in the course of their battle! Was he ready to risk his only friend's life for his vengeance?

No.

Besides, was he even wholly certain he still wanted to slay his mother? Admittedly when he'd first learned of her true identity and her betrayal he had wanted nothing more than to kill her. He doubted he could ever fully forgive her for abandoning him or for seeking to thwart his destiny.

Yet she had risked her own life to rescue him after Dagnine's men captured him. She had saved him, and the entire Centaur village along with him! She fought for good now and, whatever she had done to him, she was still his mother.

"Don't look so grim," Justin urged him, breaking his train of thought. "Like I said, it'll help if you smile."

Flashing a weak grin at his friend, Solan made his decision. Even if by chance Xena was in Amphipolis, he would not go there. He simply wasn't prepared to confront his mother at this point. There were too many difficulties involved, too many questions he needed to answer first. One day he would indeed seek her out-but not today.

With that resolved he noticed his companion studying the necropolis they were passing. It covered a wide span of earth and held a variety of grave markers and monuments: great mounds of earth, tombs of carved stone, marble stelai, and sculpted statues. Many were painted and he could see shades of red, black, blue and green.

"What are those?" Justin asked, pointing to the base of a nearby statue of a man and his dog where a clay plate held two small cakes and a miniature pitcher of wine.

"Those are offerings to the dead," Solan explained. "It's how we show our remembrance of those who have gone before us."

"In my world we used flowers," Justin said quietly. The teenager began to almost jog toward the open gate in the walls, allowing Solan the luxury of taking his full stride for a change.

There was no guard at the gates and they passed into the city without being challenged. They strolled down the avenue, the buildings to either side of them constructed of the same reddish mud bricks as the walls. Courtyards stood before the threshold of each home, a number of which contained small children at play. Seeing three sisters make what appeared to be mud pies and two brothers race each other while shouting at the top of their lungs, Solan had no difficulty bringing a smile to his face, albeit a wistful one. These kids were only a few years younger than him, but watching them somehow made him feel as if he were decades older. His experiences with Archon and the other children had changed him even more than he had realized.

They continued further into the city and Solan marveled at its size; it dwarfed the Centaur village in both scope and grandeur. They passed over a solid stone bridge spanning the river and at last the street opened up into the agora, the central shopping area. Throughout the square merchants had erected a multitude of booths offering their wares and a substantial crowd circulated among the reed stands. The hubbub of conversation filled the air as several dozen people conversed, bargained and bought.

Justin had come to an uncertain halt at the edge of the agora, his eyes playing over the bustling and chaotic scene.

"Let's see if they're selling anything we can use," Solan suggested. Yes, their first priority should be booking passage on a ship, but this was all new to him and he wanted to get a closer look at the various goods on display.

They could certainly afford to buy a few things if they wished; selling Kaleipus' hut and possessions had brought them six hundred drachmas, two thirds of which were in a large pouch at the bottom of Solan's backpack, while the remaining third were secreted in a pouch in Justin's backpack.

"Okay," Justin agreed. "But stay with me! I don't want us to get separated."

Given the mass of humanity before them, that was a reasonable concern. Solan was careful to remain close to his friend as they began looking over the contents of the marketplace.

The first few booths sold ornaments of gold and silver, earrings, bracelets and necklaces. Though beautiful, they were of scant interest to the boys and the two quickly moved on.

Succeeding booths sold several kinds of cloth and a variety of pigments. Shoes were on offer, along with belts, leggings, vests and shirts. Next in their browsing came perfumes made by mixing oil with roses, lavender or lilies. Olive oil was sold by the gallon in a few booths after that. Wine was selling extremely well.

It was interesting, but an unexpected mental strain was taking its toll on the twelve year-old. Given the number of people present, it was virtually impossible to move without brushing up against others, especially when you were wearing a large backpack. His training, muscle memory and battle instincts all combined to instill in him a reflexive defensive reaction to any physical contact. Constantly stifling that impulse was wearyingly hard work.

The enticing aroma of freshly baked bread indicated that they had come to the section of the agora given over to the sale of foodstuffs. The smell awoke Solan's appetite and set his stomach to rumbling. A glance back at Justin showed that the teenager was also hungry. This was where they would make their purchases.

On offer were dates, figs, almonds, olives, bread, grapes, porridge, cheese, soups, and even honey cakes! He needed to buy a few of those, he decided, already salivating in anticipation. He had only tasted honey cakes a handful of times in the past, yet with the exception of the ambrosia-like Three Musketeers bars they were the sweetest things he'd ever eaten. He stepped up to the booth and asked for six. As he'd expected they were expensive, though it was only after he had paid the price and seen the sly smile on the merchant's black-bearded face that he realized he should have haggled.

Cursing himself for a fool he transferred the cakes to his backpack, while Justin picked up a bunch of grapes. They still had enough bread for now, but a few dates would be nice. He let a couple of the other customers go before him and when his turn came he insisted on and got a price in accord with what they had paid. In the meantime Justin had bought a hunk of cheese and was making his way down to another booth, whose occupant was shouting something over the noise of the crowd. Moving closer Solan was able to make out the words.

"Fresh fish for sale! Fish caught this morning! Fresh fish for sale!"

Justin seemed to be carefully studying the fish hanging from the top of the stall and those in the bins and at the same time talking animatedly with the proprietor. Finally he pointed out two large fish and they began to speak of the price. After they had come to an agreement Justin paid and took the fish with a wide smile.

"We are travelers. Where can we prepare the fish?" he asked the trader.

"There is a tavern on the southern edge of the agora. You can cook there, for a small price," the man answered.

Justin started to turn away before suddenly turning back to the merchant. "Is there-" he began and stopped, looking frustrated. "Please ask him if there's a booth selling salt," he whispered to Solan.

Apparently Justin hadn't learned the word for salt yet. Solan put the question to the fish-seller and was given directions a stall selling spices far down the row. Barely had he finished speaking when Justin was in motion, though the press of people kept him from making much progress.

At the spices booth Justin pointed out what he wanted and bought a tiny bag of salt. After that they made it to the tavern, medium-sized red-brick structure. Outside tables and chairs were arranged in a circular fashion around several large braziers with glowing coals. Another brief conversation and the exchange of an obol, a sixth of a drachma, and Justin was filleting the fish with his sword and laying the chunks on one of the braziers. Solan sat down at a nearby table, lowering his backpack to the ground alongside Justin's and idly watching his friend cook what would surely be the main course of their meal. Unwilling to wait he had some bread and a date. Justin used his sword to flip the fillets, and when they had finished cooking he placed them in a terracotta bowl taken from a stack next to the brazier and served them at the table with a flourish.

They were succulent and Solan consumed his share readily enough. Justin, though, after a generous sprinkling of salt, absolutely devoured the fish strips. It was the most he'd seen his friend enjoy a meal. When the older boy was done he sat back with a sigh.

"That was sea bass," he informed Solan. "I've had it before. I caught one the day Storm Blaster came to get me to help the Astro Rangers. After I got back home Dad and I went fishing. He rented a boat at the marina and we were out on the ocean together until dark, just us and the wind and the waves. We had a great time."

The auburn-haired teenager fell silent, staring off into space. Thinking that a change of subject might be for the best Solan reached down into his backpack and brought out two honey cakes. Setting one in front of him he offered the other to Justin.

"These are honey cakes. I've only had them a few times, but I always loved the taste. Try one!" he encouraged Justin.

Justin took a small bite and his face brightened. He ate a larger piece while Solan tried his own. It proved to be as delicious as he remembered. He had to force himself not to have any more; he wanted his supply to last for more than a day, after all.

"That was good," Justin admitted.

"Down to the harbor to find a ship now?" the Warrior Prince asked expectantly. He was tired of having to restrain himself among the crowd in the agora.

"Not yet. First there's something I need to pick up at the marketplace."

Shouldering his backpack again he strode back into the mass of humanity. Grabbing up his own pack the Grecian boy quickly followed.

"What are you looking for?" he asked as Justin passed by booth after booth.

"That!" Justin answered, indicating a booth stocked with tools of various types, nets, and fishing poles. Justin took a long time trying out different poles before finally picking one out and purchasing it.

"That won't fit in your backpack," Solan pointed out.

"I know," Justin agreed. "Let's get out to where we have some space and I'll show you how I'll carry it."

When they had once more broken free of the crowd Justin shrugged off his backpack and untied the bedroll from the bottom. Unrolling it he placed the pole at one end and re-rolled the bedding, with the pole now inside. Then he retied the bedroll to the backpack and swung it back onto his shoulders.

"See, it's perfect!" Justin proclaimed enthusiastically. Then his cheer faded. "Solan, did you want a fishing pole too? Sorry, I didn't think about that."

"No, I don't need one," the Warrior Prince reassured his friend. In truth he'd always found fishing to be unbearably boring. You just sat around _waiting_ for a fish to bite your hook. Where in Tartarus was the action or excitement in that? Since Justin seemed to treasure it so, though, he wouldn't say a word against the "sport".

"Now the harbor?" he questioned, a shade impatiently.

"Sure," Justin answered him.

Without the masses to block their way they soon arrived at the docks. There one of the deep-hulled, triple-masted ships was taking on a load of lumber. Four men were carrying a few pieces at a time from a cart on the dock, up the gangplank and into the open hold of the ship. At their approach one of the men broke off and headed their way.

That was the one Solan approached. He was tall at almost six feet, tanned and dark-haired, though balding. His beard had streaks of gray in it, but his green eyes were clear and his posture straight.

Solan hailed him and asked, "Are you the captain of this ship?"

"I am Lysander, captain of this vessel. Who are you?" he queried, holding his right arm out for the traditional grip.

Solan grasped his forearm, being careful not to squeeze too hard. The return hold would have been enough to make his old self wince, but his now much more muscled limb absorbed the pressure without difficulty. Lysander's eyes were visibly sizing him up and taking his measure.

"My name is Solan and this is my companion, Justin," he replied, gesturing back at the teenager. "We are traveling to Athens and were hoping to book passage on a ship. When are you sailing and where are you headed?"

"We leave at dawn tomorrow for Eretria, on the isle of Euboea. You won't find a ship leaving here for Athens; all of our ships are bearing supplies to our mother city, to aid in its rebuilding."

"Your mother city?" he asked. "Why does it need to be rebuilt?"

"Eion is a colony of Eretria," Lysander explained, his tone suggesting everyone should know this. "It needs to be rebuilt because nearly three moons ago soldiers of the Persian Empire attacked and razed it!"

It was yet another surprise in a day which had already had too many of them.

"How?" he managed to rasp out.

"They came in a fleet of ships, too many for our own galleys to stop. After they sacked Eretria they took sail again and landed at the bay of Marathon. From there they planned to descend on Athens and deliver to it the same fate. The Athenians and Spartans together met them in battle on the plain, and they were overcome. The Persian army marched to the walls of Athens, but the Athenians resisted fiercely, along with the militias of Thessaly and Tripolis, towns which had lain in the path of the Persian advance. Spartan reinforcements caught the Persian dogs between hammer and anvil, leaving thousands of them dead and forcing the remainder of that filth back to their ships."

The Centaur village had always been fairly isolated, with the only nearby settlement being the Amazon community. Nonetheless Solan had never imagined that news of this magnitude would somehow fail to reach them. A Persian invasion of Greece! A Greek city put to the torch! And the whole time he had been lazing away far to the north, blissfully unaware of the threat. He had done _nothing_ to oppose the conquerors or defend his people.

"You truly didn't know?" Lysander asked skeptically.

"If I had known of it in time, I would have been there to fight!" the Warrior Prince swore.

"Are you and your friend mercenaries?"

"Yes," Justin interrupted, cutting off Solan's denial. "But Greeks first."

Lysander regarded them thoughtfully. "There are a number of Athenian ships also carrying goods to Eretria. If you sail with me, you should be able to easily find passage from Eretria to Athens."

"At what price?" Justin queried.

"Twelve drachmas for each of you. You bring your own food and drink and find your own lodgings when we drop anchor in the evening. Be on the ship by dawn each day or be left behind."

"Six drachmas for each of us," Justin bargained.

"Don't waste my time," Lysander scoffed.

"You're not using up food and water on us; this is all profit for you."

"You won't sail all the way to Eretria on my ship for a miserable six drachmas apiece," Lysander insisted.

"Twenty-four is too much; do we look wealthy?"

A brief pause ensured. "Eleven each."

"Seven."

"Nine, and we'll finish loading your cargo for you and unload it at Eretria," Solan offered in a no-nonsense voice.

"Show me," Lysander challenged, though there was no mockery in his tone.

In reply Solan lowered his backpack to the deck. Striding past the other three men, who had stopped to watch the exchange, he hefted five boards onto one shoulder and carried up the gangplank, depositing them in the bowels of the ship. Justin followed, with less enthusiasm and fewer boards.

Channeling his frustrated anger into manual labor Solan swiftly finished transferring the contents of the cart to the ship's hold. As always it felt good to show off his strength, and he could tell he'd impressed Lysander.

"Nine," the captain agreed as Solan and Justin retrieved their packs. "If you will unload the full six carts worth of wood packed into my hold."

"Agreed," Solan said tersely. "We'll see you tomorrow." He turned to leave, Justin right behind him.

"That'll be tons of fun when we get to Eretria," the former Ranger grumbled sarcastically as the docks fell away behind them.

Whirling around Solan demanded, "Why did you tell him we were mercenaries?"

Blinking Justin responded, "Because I didn't think we wanted to go into detail on what we're actually doing with him. He expected us to be mercenaries and that's something he can understand. Did you really want to explain everything to him about how we got here and what our plans are?"

It was a reasonable point, but somehow it didn't dampen the Grecian boy's anger.

"How can people learn not to fear me if they think I'm just a mercenary? They have to know who I am, that I'm trying to protect them!"

"They will," Justin assured him. "When we find a situation where you can help, we'll tell them that. I just didn't think this was the person or the time. Why are you getting so upset about this?"

Solan turned partially away, leaving Justin to look at his profile.

"Greece was invaded and I wasn't there. I didn't even know about it until now!" he raged.

"You couldn't stop a whole army!" Justin protested.

Surprised Solan turned back to look his friend directly in the face.

"I know _that_! But I could have fought alongside the Athenians. I could have done my part to drive the Persians back. You told me about how you and the other Rangers stood between Divatox and the conquest of Earth. Now the Persian Empire invaded Greece and I did nothing!"

"Listen to me! We had teleporters and communicators and an enemy dumb enough to only attack one small city over and over again. You don't have any of that. You didn't deliberately leave Athens to the Persians; you didn't know what was happening! That's one of the reasons we're going to Athens now, so we can find out where the trouble spots are. All this shows is that we made the right decision on what city-state to visit first."

Again the Prince of Warriors turned half away, speaking more quietly and from the heart. "I want to be there when things like this happen, Justin. I want to stop them."

"I know," the Turbo Ranger replied solemnly. "I want that too. We'll do the best we can, Solan; that's all I can say."

Heaving a last sigh of frustration, the twelve year-old unclenched his fists and glanced back down at his ally.

"I could use a swim in the river right now. Are you up for it?"

"Thanks, but there's something else I want to pick up first."

"What?"

"Bait," Justin said as he reached back to pat his encased fishing pole.


	3. Chapter 3

They exited via the eastern gate through which they'd entered the city and walked north, veering west toward the river when they were well past Eion's walls. When they reached the banks of the Strymon the larger blond boy glanced down at his companion with an expression of uncertainty.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you? I can wait until you're finished," he offered.

"No, you go for your swim," Justin encouraged him. "I'll be back to join you as soon as I'm done digging up worms. Have fun!"

The auburn-haired adolescent headed back south-east. With a sigh Solan shucked off his backpack and stripped off his clothing and boots. Then he leapt into the swiftly flowing river. It was cold enough to make him shiver and after floating on his back for a bit he flipped over and began to swim against the current. Though he made scant progress, the exertion involved warmed him. He persisted in his Sisyphean endeavor for some time before standing and simply letting the river flow around him.

He'd missed being able to immerse himself yesterday. There was nothing more refreshing than a dip in the water; it relaxed the muscles and cleansed the body.

A pity his mind wasn't so simply put at ease. In spite of Justin's arguments, the knowledge that he'd missed out on an entire invasion continued to gnaw at him. Gods damn it, he was Solan, Warrior Prince! He was supposed to be there when evil threatened, not find out about it months later!

He could only hope that he would never again be blind to such a grievous threat. Perhaps, once his reputation had grown great enough, people would be wise enough to inform him of such matters and seek his aid. That would help a lot.

In the meantime there was naught for him to do but stew in his own frustration and anger. With a growl he threw himself forward and renewed his struggle against the river.

This time when he paused he glanced anxiously toward the eastern bank. There was still no sign of Justin. He had to be done with his bait gathering by now, didn't he? Or had something happened to him? The undercurrent of unease he'd been feeling surged to outright fear.

Emerging from the river Solan rapidly dressed, not even bothering to first dry himself with the cloth in his backpack. He'd known splitting up was a mistake!

The Warrior Prince came around the edge of Eion's walls almost at a sprint. In the distance, just on this side of the road, was a hunched-over figure, back to the necropolis. The sight of a backpack open on the ground beside the familiar brown head confirmed that this was Justin. Slowing to a walk he saw the teenager appeared to be widening a large hole in the ground, using his scabbard-encased sword as a makeshift spade.

He was fine after all. Relieved yet also feeling a bit foolish the Grecian boy was about make his retreat when Justin sat back on his haunches and glanced up.

"Solan!" he called with a wave.

Reluctantly walking over he noticed that Justin's hands were caked with dirt. There was even a streak across his forehead. The small terracotta jar of olive oil that had been in his backpack sat open beside him, while a turned-up area of earth was in front of him.

"What's up?" Justin asked. "Don't tell me you're tired of swimming already!"

Aware of the water dripping from him, the fair skin of Solan's face reddened as he tried to think of what to say.

"I just wanted to see how you were coming along," he shrugged.

Fortunately Justin didn't enquire further.

"Pretty good. Hopefully what I've got will at least last through our voyage."

Digging downward Justin revealed a slimy thing, which he seized eagerly and deposited in the olive oil jar.

"You're putting the worms in with the olive oil?" Solan all but shouted.

"No, I dumped the jar out first," Justin admitted. "There wasn't much oil left in there anyway, and I needed somewhere to store them. You've still got plenty in your jar."

Disgusted and glad he'd already had lunch Solan said, "I'm going back to the river."

"Wait up, I'll come with you. I could use a bath now more than ever!"

When the duo had tired of swimming they lay down, propped against their backpacks, resting and watching the river run. For some time a companionable silence reigned between them. Solan was the first to break it.

"Ready for more hand-to-hand? Or would you rather do swordsmanship first?"

Justin's reply led off with a moan. "Come on! It's not even dinnertime yet!"

"All the better," Solan insisted. "We can train early, while you're fresher."

"After walking here, carrying all that lumber, digging up worms and swimming I don't know how fresh I am," Justin warned sourly.

"This way you'll have more time left to read before the sun goes down."

"And what will you do with your extra time?"

"I'll swim again," he decided, standing and offering a hand to Justin.

"Fine," Justin conceded as he grasped the hand and was pulled to his feet. "Sword first. You said yesterday I needed to improve my footwork. Show me what you meant."

Drawing his blade Solan gladly complied. This was an activity he deeply enjoyed. By helping to improve Justin's combat skills he lessened the chances that the adolescent would be injured in battle. Then, too, he felt as though he was repaying a little of the massive debt he owed his friend through this instruction. On top of that training naturally required sparring, which was almost as much fun as a real fight.

The final appeal of this activity for the Warrior Prince lay in Justin's status as a Turbo Ranger and master of karate. Yet in spite of those impressive titles, _he_ was the one who was teaching the older boy how to be a better fighter! How could he not take pride in that fact?

ΩΩΩΩΩ

After their third unarmed match concluded Justin decided he'd had enough sparring for the day.

"I'll do my exercises now," he informed Solan, who nodded with only a flicker of disappointment. The twelve year-old immediately began walking north toward a distant tree, a requirement for his routine. As Justin started on his push-ups his mind went back over his performance today. It would be some time before he could pose a serious challenge to Solan in hand-to-hand combat. He needed to expand his knowledge of his friend's unique martial art and hope that time would narrow the physical gap between them. In armed combat the discrepancy in their skills was even greater, yet he harbored more hope in that area, primarily because such battles could be settled with a single unblocked strike. He was convinced that the key to victory lay not in trying to outlast or overpower Solan, but in the right feint. If he could only trick his opponent's sword sufficiently out of position to create an opening, then the match would be his.

Unfortunately Solan's skill, familiarity with his style and ability to anticipate him had thus far overcome his efforts at misdirection. Part of the anticipation was down to visual cues he was inadvertently giving his opponent; his friend had said as much. He needed to work harder at masking those or, even better, at faking them. A false involuntary cue would need to be perfectly done to fool his opponent, though; whenever they fought Solan focused on him with such fierce intensity that Justin sometimes felt like a mouse under the gaze of a hawk.

Truthfully he found that scrutiny a little unnerving, but then he'd also told Solan the truth this morning: He didn't fear the Warrior Prince. Not anymore, at least.

That hadn't been the case a few months ago. Even after he had forgiven his friend, what had happened between them was a hard thing to forget. Not only the beatings themselves, but also the obvious joy Solan had taken in delivering them. Yes, Archon had lied to and deceived him. In the end though, Solan had still _chosen_ of his own free will to do what he had done. What was to stop him from someday choosing to do it again?

Rationally he'd known how cruelly unfair that question was, yet his apprehension had remained. That was why he had insisted that he and Solan begin sparring together. The best way to get over your fears was to confront them head-on, not run from them.

Forcing himself to face off again with the larger, much more muscular boy had taken courage, though Solan's appearance at the time had helped a lot. The blackened eye and purpling bruise on his jaw had served as visible proof of Solan's remorse and resolve. He'd let Justin pound away at his face rather than strike back in self-defense! What better evidence of his trustworthiness could Justin possibly hope for?

After their first match commenced it had soon became clear Solan was deliberately performing at less than his full level of mastery. Oddly, rather than reassure him further, the condescending treatment had infuriated him! He'd been a Power Ranger, damn it! He didn't need to be patronized or humored! In his anger he had cut loose with a full contact kick to the stomach. Fire had flared in Solan's cerulean eyes and Justin had instinctively cringed backward. Fortunately the Grecian preteen hadn't retaliated, though he had started fighting to the best of his ability.

Consequently Justin had lost that and all subsequent sparring matches, but he had nonetheless achieved his goal. Gradually his fear had diminished as he fought Solan again and again in practice, never once getting hurt. In time he had come once more to trust in his friend, as he had before. Even Solan's startling reaction to physical contact had ceased to scare Justin, for the Warrior Prince was always able to stop himself in time.

Arms aching Justin dropped to the ground. He lay there for a moment, catching his breath. Then he rolled over on his back to do his sit-ups.

Any lingering doubts he might have harbored had been assuaged this morning. Solan's obvious concern over whether Justin still feared him had genuinely touched the former Turbo Ranger. The Warrior Prince had actually looked _vulnerable_, which was rare for him. Given his size, build, clothing and confidence, the enhanced twelve year-old generally appeared about as vulnerable as a MegaZord.

In light of that, his inability to comprehend the other travelers' reactions to him still struck Justin as hilarious. It was as if Solan didn't realize how imposing he was now! He did know, though; he'd done plenty of proud, deliberate menacing right after his transformation. Why then had he been so astonished that people here would feel threatened by him?

Maybe it was because he wasn't _trying_ to frighten them. The idea that the sight of him would naturally inspire apprehension, regardless of his intentions, had apparently never occurred to him.

Having finished his sit-ups Justin rested and reflected for a moment.

The naiveté exposed by the oversight actually gladdened the teenager. Although Solan had been undeniably hardened by his experiences with Archon, this and other things he had done reminded Justin there was still a kid inside the ultra-athletic fighting machine his friend had become.

And that was a comforting realization on several levels. It was heartening to see Archon hadn't been able to wholly strip away Solan's innocence. Also, it was comforting to know that Justin's own greater understanding and experience could definitely be of use to them. Not that he necessarily wanted to be in charge, not after what had happened to . . . to the others he'd led. Solan no longer required his protection, however, and the former Turbo Ranger had to know he was contributing more to their partnership than just information from the future.

Justin finished the rest of his exercises and started in on his Grecian vocabulary work. Time flowed by unheeded and it wasn't until he heard Solan calling his name that he looked up.

His companion was walking back along the river bank, moving with the tired sluggishness which indicated he'd completed his own battle practice and exercises. Unlike Justin, who exercised on alternate days, Solan pushed his body to the limit five days a week.

He stopped a few yards upriver and pulled off his cross-belts. The former Ranger quickly returned his gaze to the paper, Solan's utter lack of modesty embarrassing him as usual. Of course skinny-dipping was necessary if you wanted to go swimming here; it wasn't like there were any bathing suits around to wear. And that was fine when the two of them were actually in the water together. It was only the way the Greek boy so readily and unselfconsciously exposed himself on land, without the slightest effort to cover up, which made Justin blush. He'd thought of saying something, but it would be an awfully awkward topic to try to broach. Better to leave things as they were.

Once his friend had emerged from the river and gotten dressed again, though, Justin couldn't resist glancing over with a hidden grin. Solan's shoulder-length blond hair tended to separate itself out into sodden clumps after getting wet. The visual effect put the teenager in mind of a soaked cat, and made Solan appear funny rather than formidable.

They dined back at the inn and debated briefly about whether to get a room or sleep outside the city walls. In the end they opted to stay in the inn. They were shown to a small room bare save for the beds. Both of the weary youths turned in and fell asleep almost immediately. The next thing Justin knew someone was calling his name.

Slowly opening his eyes he saw that Solan was up and ready to go.

"Come on!" his friend urged. "Lysander said he was leaving at dawn. He might wait for us, but I doubt he will wait long."

Justin heaved himself out of bed and got ready. They were off to the docks in less than five minutes and found Lysander's ship still there. The captain greeted them briskly and held out his hand for the promised payment, which Justin gave him.

"The voyage should last for five days. We will drop anchor every night and resume sailing with first light. Find yourself a place on deck and stay out of the way."

He turned and started to walk away, then stopped and spoke back over his shoulder.

"You need do nothing until we arrive at our destination, unless we are attacked by pirates. Then I will expect you to defend the ship with the rest of us."

"You think we'll be attacked?" Justin asked in surprise.

Lysander shrugged expressively. "Several pirate groups frequent these waters. We will see."

As Lysander called out to one of his sailors, Justin and Solan traded glances, the former's wryly understanding and the latter's visibly excited.

So the captain had an ulterior motive all along for granting them a place on his ship. Not only was he getting paid to transport them, but now he had two guards in case of trouble whom he had not needed to pay. It was clever, Justin had to concede.

The former Blue Turbo Ranger found himself largely enjoying his time aboard the ship. The sea air was refreshing, as was the wind upon his face. The clear blue sky and rolling waves gave him a feeling of relaxed tranquility. Finally and perhaps most importantly, he had plenty of opportunity to use his new fishing pole.

It wasn't a patch on the one he'd owned at home, of course, being little more than a cord, hook and length of wood. In a way it symbolized to Justin all of the human advancement and progress he'd lost by coming here. For that reason he was initially tempted to put it away again, but he resisted the impulse. He was a resident of this world now, and nothing was going to change that. He had to learn to _live_ here, rather than just survive and mourn. Besides, he'd already lost more than he ever would have imagined possible; did he really want to give up his love of fishing too?

It was a lot more challenging to try to catch fish this way, yet at the same time more satisfying when he succeeded. He happily spent several hours a day fishing off the side of the vessel.

If only Solan had been able to find a similar activity with which to occupy himself! Unfortunately the young Prince of Warriors had nothing to keep him busy during their voyage. He obviously couldn't hike or swim, didn't want to fish, and he couldn't even talk to Justin about anything of significance, not without being overheard (after seeing the way Lysander had maneuvered them, Justin was leery of giving the man any more information than they had to).

Consequently it didn't take long for the twelve year-old to grow exceedingly bored and more than a little frustrated. The first day he paced the deck of the ship like a caged lion, until Lysander shouted that he was making the rest of them seasick and if he didn't sit down he'd be tossed into the ocean to swim after the ship. Justin was sure the captain wasn't serious, but threatening Solan that way would've led to something serious if Justin hadn't hurried to intervene.

That evening, after they had docked and gone ashore, Justin endured a rather rougher and more bruising hand-to-hand session than was the norm. There was no ill intent involved; Solan was simply giving vent to his feelings and seeking to work off some of his excess energy. He had apologized the moment he realized he was using a bit too much force.

Justin had tried to think of something Solan could do aboard the ship. Aside from watching the crew work the sails and wheel though, there really wasn't much on offer. Solan ended up spending a great deal of his time looking gloomily out to sea, his visage brightening only when he spotted another ship. The blond boy would stare eagerly at the vessel in question until they lost sight of it again, giving Justin the sneaking suspicion that his friend was actually _hoping_ for a pirate attack to break up the monotony.

If so, it was a hope which would go unfulfilled, at least on this trip. They reached Eretria early on the fifth day and immediately proceeded to the most unpleasant part of the trip for Justin: the unloading. By the time they had finally finished the spent fifteen year-old felt as though he was on the verge of collapse. He was drenched in perspiration, his arms and shoulders ached abominably, and he was half-convinced his spine had telescoped. Even Solan was noticeably fatigued; not surprising, given that he had done the bulk of the labor.

Bidding Lysander a polite farewell they'd sought out a ship returning to Athens tomorrow, one which had thankfully already offloaded its cargo. The next day they landed at Greece's most important city.

Athens was far larger than Eion and more densely populated. Finding lodging was their first priority. Afterwards they explored the city until nightfall. Then they left through the city gates and sought out a nearby area to train and spar. Embarrassingly they were spotted by a group of travelers and forced to explain that they were only practicing, not trying to murder one another. Justin could only hope word of the incident wouldn't spread too far.

As they were finishing breakfast the following morning Justin proposed in quiet English what he thought was the best plan for the day.

"I've got to find out who the key philosophers are here and get hold of some of their writings. While I'm doing that why don't you see what you can find out about any threats nearby: bandits, pirates, tyrants, even rampaging monsters."

It was a bit hard to get that last one out, but living in the Centaur village for months had made it very clear that what were Greek myths in his world were fact here. If there was a-a chimera or something preying on a village, they would need to kill the beast. It would be no different from battling the alien creatures which Divatox had used to attack Angel Grove.

Well, no different aside from their lack of access to the Morphin Grid, lack of armor, lack of laser weaponry, and lack of Zords, the ex-Turbo Ranger concluded bleakly.

Damn it! He had to get over this! He couldn't keep slipping into depression. Yes, they were without all of those things, so they'd just have to make do with what they had. At least they'd have the advantage of time to plan, rather than being forced to react on the fly like the Rangers.

His attention taken up with his internal monologue, Justin missed hearing Solan's reply. He was thus taken aback when he looked up to see his companion frowning down at him.

"Sorry, what did you say?" he asked.

"I said why don't we stay together? We can visit your philosophers and then we can learn who we need to fight."

"This'll probably take me all day," Justin countered. "If you come with me we won't be able to start finding out where we might be needed until tomorrow. I figured you'd want to know now, so we could get there as soon as possible."

Solan's frown became more pronounced, his blue eyes narrowing.

"Aren't you going to want to stay here for days anyway?"

"No, I'm only going to find out who I need to talk to and try to read what they've written. I don't know nearly enough of written or spoken Greek to really start communicating with them yet. I should be ready to travel by tomorrow."

Solan still seemed to be struggling with his proposal and Justin was somewhat surprised at his friend's reaction. He'd assumed the young Warrior Prince would be eager to seek out word of potential enemies and would have little interest in visiting philosophers with him. Splitting up was the quickest way to advance both their goals.

Maybe Solan simply wasn't sure who to ask for information.

"You'll want to speak with travelers who come through the gates, foreign merchants in the agora, and maybe visit some taverns," Justin offered helpfully.

There was no lightening of Solan's expression in response, so apparently he hadn't been concerned about that after all. He continued to regard Justin grimly.

"Are you sure you'll be all right on your own?" Solan asked with clear concern.

Huh? His Greek wasn't that bad, was it?

"I'll be fine," he reassured his ally, in Greek. His friend always recognized the difference, since his vocabulary was naturally much smaller and his speech slower.

"Fine," Solan echoed tersely, getting up from the table. "I'll see you back here for dinner."

He turned and stalked away, leaving Justin bemused. Apparently he wasn't the only one dealing with a black mood.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Several hours later Solan's mood had worsened considerably. His efforts had yielded little information and he was quickly growing tired of the reactions of many of those he had questioned. While not encountering the outright fear evidenced by the travelers outside Eion, his approach was often met with an irritating wariness. Then, after he inquired about bandit and pirates, people frequently assumed he was looking to _join_ such a group, an insult which deeply offended the twelve year-old.

Lunch made him feel a little better, but then he was back to dealing with the same frustrating doubt and mistrust. How was he supposed to help people if they wouldn't tell him where he was needed? Finally his patience snapped and he began identifying himself as Solan, Warrior Prince and son of Xena. Responses ranged from awe, to failure to recognize his mother's name, to outright skepticism, but such a range of reactions was more to his liking than the near-universal suspicion he had been facing all morning.

Besides, in time all of Greece would know his name, and the skeptics would see how wrong they had been to doubt either his skills or his ancestry.

Only once did a situation degenerate into violence, with a young man a few years older than Justin, about five ten, black-haired and bearded. If Solan had to guess, he would have said that this was one of the Athenian soldiers who had driven back the Persians. That fact would have been enough to win his regard, if other hadn't openly laughed at him and mocked his title. With some effort he had fought back the temptation to lash out, but the youth had seen his feelings on his face and had tried to disdainfully shove him away.

He caught his opponent's extended right hand with his left before it could make contact, twisting it a hundred and eighty degrees around and bringing the aggressor to his knees. Maintaining his hold he struck two swift, powerful blows across his enemy's nose. Finally, planting his right boot on the man's chest, he released the adult's hand and kicked his opponent back into the dust.

Solan was ready when the man arose, blood dripping from his broken nose and his features twisted in fury. The enraged former soldier charged forward, feinting with his left fist and jabbing with his right. Ignoring the feint Solan adroitly dodged the punch, took a step nearer and slammed a knee into his foe's stomach. His attacker collapsed immediately and the Warrior Prince left him gasping on the ground.

Thinking back on it the preteen wondered if he might have overreacted. Had he gone too far in response to a mere shove? The man had come at him with aggressive intent, though; didn't that justify self-defense? And it wasn't like he'd snapped the fool's neck, as he could have easily done. Even if his response had been correct, however, Solan still couldn't smother a twinge of guilt at both the ease of his victory and the distinct pleasure he'd taken in battering his mocker.

When he reached the inn Justin was already sitting at a table outside, one piled high with half a dozen scrolls. Somehow the sight of the former Turbo Ranger, safe and sound, eased something in Solan's chest and he smiled as he sat down across from the teenager.

"How did your day go?" the long-haired blond boy asked.

"Well enough," Justin allowed, glancing up from his parchment. "I've got a lot of work ahead of me, though. What about you?"

Solan snorted in reply. "Most of those I spoke with told me nothing, but I did learn of a group of bandits near Corinth known as the Red Valley Gang. They've been robbing travelers and breaking into homes, and it seems Corinth is only two days journey west of here. We should go after them," he stated definitively, a hint of eagerness leaking into his tone.

"Okay," Justin agreed. "We can leave tomorrow morning."

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	4. Chapter 4

They left early the next morning, after stopping to purchase food in Athens' massive and massively crowded agora. Though Solan seemed to be in fine spirits, Justin's own mood was decidedly sober, if not gloomy. His studying last night had made it clear to him just how far he had to go before he could begin interjecting his own knowledge into Athens' community of philosophers. To have all of this information, so much knowledge, and be unable to share it was maddening! There had to be a better way!

Justin spent most of the morning trying to devise one, but he always ran up against the same difficulty. Without establishing his authority on these matters there was no reason for anyone to believe him, and he couldn't tell them how he knew these things without being thought insane.

Perhaps influenced by Justin's silence Solan was quiet in turn. This state of affairs persisted until early afternoon, when they came upon a village. Much of it seemed freshly built, while the rest consisted of charred skeletons of old buildings lingering on the outskirts. A quick question to a passerby established that this was the village of Tripolis, burned by its inhabitants as the Persians had approached.

Thanking the man Justin turned back to Solan only to find the Warrior Prince looking this way and that, eyes wide and lips tightly pursed.

"Solan?" Justin asked curiously.

"This way," Solan said, moving off toward the north end of the village. Justin followed, needing to jog a bit now to keep up with taller boy's long-legged strides.

"What is it?" he asked. "What's going on?"

"Please, just come with me. I'll explain later."

"Why can't you explain now?" Justin couldn't resist asking.

"Because I need to make sure it's real first!" Solan snapped, quickening his pace still further.

There were more questions on the tip of the teen's tongue, requests for clarification which he practically ached to voice. What had brought all of this on? What exactly did Solan have to confirm was real? And how was he supposed to help if Solan wouldn't even explain to him what was going on?

He restrained his curiosity with considerable difficulty, and only out of consideration for his friend's obvious agitation. There was one thing, though, which he absolutely had to know.

"Will we be in danger, where you're taking us?"

"No, I don't think so," the blond replied distractedly.

That wasn't exactly the answer Justin had been hoping for, but it would have to do.

They passed beyond the outskirts of the village and continued in a roughly northern direction. The signs of human habitation fell away behind them and it was more than three miles before they came upon another sign of civilization.

The structure looked like a short squat mini-fort, nestled into the hillside. It stood behind a long wide ditch over which stretched a plank bridge. At the end of the bridge nearest the fort stood two wood logs roughly the height of flag poles, one on either side.

From the way Solan exhaled when he caught sight of the place, Justin was sure this was where he'd been taking them. The young Prince continued forward and started across the plank bridge. In contrast to his earlier breakneck speed he moved much more slowly, almost reluctantly, his attention fixed unwaveringly on the double doors ahead. Justin followed along behind him, his mind wrestling with the question of what this place was and how on Earth Solan had known it was here.

Suddenly rushing the final few feet Solan threw open the doors with far more force than was necessary, as if he'd forgotten how strong he was. They slammed back into the wall and the twelve year-old's gaze swept across the room revealed.

The interior of the building consisted of a single large chamber, one Justin judged to be almost the size of the Angel Grove High gym. There were dozens of large crates lying scattered across the floor, and a pile of sandbags stacked in one corner. The roof was supported by multiple wooden pillars, several of which also had sconces holding unlit torches. There were three filled metal candleholders and also candles set out on a couple of chairs. Near those chairs were a large black cauldron and a pile of blankets. Four shuttered windows studded the left and right walls. Over at the opposite end from the entrance was a loft, with a wooden ladder leading up to it. Covering all of this was a thick layer of dust; clearly no one had been here in some time.

"Solan, what is this place?" Justin asked, hoping his tone made it clear that he would be put off no longer.

In response Solan walked to one of the crates and smashed his left fist through the thin top, using the hole to rip the crate open. With his right hand he reached in and brought out a sizeable morning star.

"It's an armory," he confided quietly, not even turning to look at his friend as he spoke. "One of four my mother built in different corners of Greece. Whenever she needed weapons for new troops, they'd be waiting for her here."

He tossed the weapon back into the open crate, and the ring of metal on metal reverberated through the building.

Justin shifted uneasily, aware of what a sensitive area this would be for Solan. He remembered as if it had happened yesterday the furious tirade the Warrior Prince had delivered against his mother in the Battlefield, his passionate denouncing of her for having betrayed him. Later, in the arena, he'd equated her to Archon, condemning them both for trying to shape him for their own purposes. After that . . . Justin realized with a start that he hadn't heard Solan mention Xena at all since then. Over three months and he hadn't said one word concerning his mother. Nor had the former Ranger ever bothered to ask about her.

"Did she tell you this during one of her visits?" the former Ranger inquired gently.

"Of course not!" Solan snarled as he spun around. "She would never tell me anything of warfare or battle! Her plan was always to keep me weak and helpless, so I would never grow to surpass her as I'm destined to do!"

"Then how'd you know about these armories?" Justin asked, hiding his growing concern behind a facade of calmness.

"Archon told me about them," Solan confessed, breaking eye-contact as he spoke.

The admission smashed Justin's illusion of calm, his voice instantly rising to a near-bellow. "When did _he_ talk to you, and why didn't you tell me as soon as he did?"

"It wasn't like that!" Solan shouted back. "It happened while he was improving me! Along with all of my battle skills I gained the knowledge of Xena's storehouses. I didn't think anything of it then. It wasn't until I heard the name of the village was Tripolis that I remembered this place and how to get here from there."

Justin didn't answer, concentrating instead on collecting himself. Okay, what Solan had said made sense, a lot more sense than his friend keeping such a contact secret would have. He shouldn't have sounded so accusing, but damn it, any mention of that _thing_ was always going to draw a strong reaction from him. Glancing at his companion he saw Solan standing almost defiantly, his features tense and angry-but there was an element of hurt there too, and Justin swore again inside, this time at himself.

Walking over to the nearest crate he dropped down atop it.

"Sorry," he offered sincerely. "I didn't mean to sound like . . . I'm sorry."

The apology seemed to mollify the muscular youth, who sprawled gracefully across a crate of his own.

"Did Archon implant anything else like this in your memory? Any other information about Greece?" Justin asked the reclining boy.

"No," he answered with a shake of his head. "The rest all has to do with physical proficiencies or battle strategies and tactics."

He'd never done this before, never questioned Solan regarding the exact content of what Archon had put into his head.

The same way he hadn't asked Solan about the latter's mother. Aside from planning for the future and accepting Solan's apology, all of the personal talks they'd had since coming to this world had centered on _him_, on his losses and feelings. Of course he'd had the most to deal with, but Solan had hardly emerged from their ordeal trauma-free. The twelve year-old had been forced to face his mother's true identity and betrayal, the fact that his alternate universe self was an evil deity responsible for all of their suffering, and the revelation of his prophesized destiny. Add on to that adjusting to the extensive alteration of both his body and mind, guilt over his and Archon's actions, and the stress of leaving the only home he had ever known to travel with Justin, and it was a wonder Solan hadn't already broken down under the weight of his own issues!

Then the subject of Justin's train of thought derailed it with a question.

"Are you hungry?"

Their detour had kept them moving well past their usual lunch time and it was something of a relief for the fourteen year-old to turn his attention to the mundane matter of eating.

After they were done with their meal Justin resumed the conversation.

"Why did you want to come here?"

"I wanted to see if my memory was right, if this place existed. And if it did I wanted to do this."

Rising Solan made his way to the crate he'd opened and reached inside, pulling out a spear. Striding over to the entrance he drove the head of the weapon deep into the outside face of the open left door, and began to carve.

The spear was an oversized and unwieldy tool, the wood aged and tough, yet the powerful preteen persisted in his efforts until his task was accomplished. He stared at his handiwork for a moment before coming back inside and returning the spear to its crate.

Justin hurried to look at the door, the surface of which now bore the crudely etched words, "Solan Warrior Prince."

"Why?"

"Xena hasn't been to this place in years. Maybe she'll never return, but if she does I want her to see that_ I_ was here. I want her to know I'm alive and following my destiny in spite of everything she did to stop me!" Solan spat out, his voice harsh and his sapphire eyes blazing.

The unsettlingly familiar sight and sound sent a chill down Justin's spine. The rage he'd seen in Solan during the tournament had never gone away at all; how foolish of him to think it had! Yet he hadn't actually come to any such conclusion; he'd been far too focused on himself to spare a single thought for Solan except as that consideration related to him. Given everything he had lost perhaps he couldn't have been expected to react in any other way, at first.

Once he'd finally reached an uneasy equilibrium with his own emotions, however, he had still failed to support his friend, acting as if his forgiveness and presence were all that was required of him. He'd been so eager to use his advanced knowledge to help people, but he'd completely missed the fact that Solan was crying out for his help right beside him.

Even their conversation a week ago on the road to Eion hadn't been enough to get his attention. He'd seen Solan's obvious anxiety about his trust as proof of the other boy's friendship and loyalty; he hadn't understood how desperately Solan needed a friend, needed someone to rely upon and confide in.

Now he did understand, and he was afraid he wasn't up to the task. Given his intellect he'd always been far better with machinery than with people; the other Turbo Rangers had been his first real friends. He honestly didn't know if he could do this, if he could say the right things.

The only thing he was sure he could do right was to listen, as Solan had listened to him these past months. And the first requirement for listening was to keep twelve year-old talking. Let him get out his feelings. Let him get it all out.

"What if we meet up with your mother in person?" Justin asked as fuming preteen headed for the door.

"Then she'll probably try to kill me," Solan snapped, whirling back around.

"Are you sure?"

"Her greatest fear is that I'll rise above her! That's why she left me with the Centaurs, so I could never become the legendary warrior I was meant to be! Now that I'm finally treading that path she'll try to stop me while she still can!"

"After she saved you from Dagnine, and tried to protect you from Callisto?" Justin persisted gently.

While they were exploring the labyrinth Solan had been effusive in his praise of Xena and his glowing tales of her heroism had made Justin warm to her as well. Would a woman like that really murder her own son out of pride? Of course she had given him away to the Centaurs, but that had been right after she'd stopped being a warlord, before she'd begun to fight for right. As the years had passed maybe she'd come to regret abandoning her child. She must have, or else why would she have offered to take him with her after Kaleipus died? Before his abduction Solan had been slated to travel with Xena and Gabrielle. Instead he had ended up traveling with Justin. Even with a different companion he'd still ended up traveling. Could that be an example of fate at work?

He could ponder that question another time. Right now his attention had to be on Solan.

"I wasn't a threat to her then. Now I am," Solan answered harshly. "Come on, let's go."

Again the young Prince turned away and in his eagerness to get Solan to stay and talk Justin unthinkingly took his friend by the left shoulder.

With quicksilver speed Solan spun around, breaking Justin's hold and bringing up his left hand to grasp the teenager's upper arm. Justin found himself yanked forward and off-balance when the stiffened fingers of Solan's right hand struck at his neck with pinpoint precision.

The abrupt, unexpected pain was trivial compared to former Ranger's sudden inability to breath. Justin struggled vainly to draw in air, his lungs heaving without effect. A second forceful impact on his neck undid what the first one had caused, allowing the auburn-haired boy to resume respiration.

He gradually became aware that Solan was lowering him down onto a crate, all the while apologizing.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-I just reacted! Are you all right? How do you feel?"

As he stared up at a visage wracked with remorse and anxiety Justin took stock of himself. Aside from the throbbing bruise forming on his neck he seemed to be fine.

"I'm okay," he reassured his friend.

"Justin, I swear I'd never mean to hurt you again! I-"

"Solan!" the teenager interrupted. "I know you didn't do this on purpose. It was an accident. Now sit down."

It was an accident, one which was partially his fault. He knew perfectly well how the Warrior Prince reacted to unexpected physical contact; he'd screwed up by forgetting that. Yet Solan had always previously caught himself before doing any damage. This time he hadn't, and Justin had a pretty good idea as to why.

"Solan, I want to talk more about your mother."

The guilty look the twelve year-old wore immediately hardened into a more determined and angry expression.

"I don't wish to speak of her."

"You have to! You can't keep everything bottled up inside; that's why you couldn't control yourself just now."

The assertion brought a wince, and Justin felt guilty himself for hitting at what he knew was a sensitive spot. He didn't for one second doubt the truth of what he was saying, though. Solan clearly needed to get a better handle on his feelings, not just for his own sake, but for the safety of those around him. Justin had done more than his share of talking, crying, even shouting over these past few months; now it was Solan's turn.

"It'll make you feel better to talk about it," Justin urged him.

"Talk about what? How she lied to me? How she betrayed me?"

"If that's what you want."

"I don't want to talk about any of this!"

Justin fell silent, uncertain how to get his friend to open up. Should he share his own speculation about how Xena might have come to regret her decisions regarding her son? Would hearing that hypothesis help, or would it merely anger Solan further? Right now it sounded to him like the Warrior Prince intended to go for his mother's throat the instant he saw her. Did he?

"What are you planning to do when you see her again?"

"I'll defend myself!"

"Yes, but what if she doesn't attack you?"

Justin cut off Solan's protest by repeating the question. "What if she doesn't? What will you do then?"

"I-I don't know," Solan admitted. A moment ago his entire body had been taut as a bowstring, virtually vibrating with tension. Now he slumped back as though exhausted. "When I think of all I've suffered and lost because of her I _want_ to cut her down, Justin! I want to become her greatest enemy, just as I swore and she feared. I could be that in a few more years."

Yeah, Justin silently agreed, you could.

"Then I remember how much good she's done since she stopped being a warlord. She saved my village. She saved _me_! She's like you, Justin: a defender of the innocent. How many people would I hurt in the future by hurting her?" he whispered.

The auburn-haired adolescent nodded understandingly; he was proud of Solan for thinking to pose the question. The primary trait required of a Power Ranger was concern for others, and that compassion was exactly what the young Warrior Prince was displaying now. Worrying as his lust for vengeance was, he thankfully hadn't allowed it to become all-consuming.

He never had. Even when he'd thought Justin had betrayed him he had still, in the end, listened, weighed what the teenager had said, and changed his mind.

"Yet I can't forgive or forget what she's done!" the blond boy went on, raising his voice. "She abandoned me, for the sake of her own pride and vanity! If she could bring herself to do that, why wouldn't she kill me now that I've finally freed myself from her deception?"

"You said yourself she's changed since she was a warlord. Maybe she regrets giving you up," Justin proffered gently.

"THEN SHE SHOULD HAVE TOLD ME THE TRUTH!" Solan all but howled. "She should have told me she was my _mother_! From the day I met her she lied to me! She and Archon both did, and I'm sick of being lied to!"

"Maybe you're right. Maybe if I met her again she would apologize and say she wished she'd done things differently. Even if she did, though, how could I believe her? How could I know she was telling me the truth this time? With Kaleipus gone there's no one left I can trust, except you."

Justin found himself blinking hard at those last words. Solan was unfailingly blunt and unflinchingly honest. Whatever he said he meant, and thus Justin was left both moved and humbled. Solan was as alone in this world as he was; it was something he hadn't truly comprehended before, but which he would never forget.

The Grecian boy actually looked his age at the moment, at least in the face: he wore the plaintive expression of a hurt and unhappy child.

"You _can_ trust me," Justin reassured him in a hoarse voice. "And I'm not going anywhere. I'll always be here for you, just like you've been there for me ever since we got to this world."

The preteen Prince of Warriors gave a jerky nod of acknowledgment and abruptly turned away from Justin, as though to hide the tears running down his cheeks.

"Don't! You've seen me crying enough; you don't have to be ashamed."

Moving slowly and non-threateningly Justin stood up, stepped forward, and awkwardly embraced his strapping, bigger best friend. The fierce return hug felt as though it would break his ribs, but the teenager bit his lip and uttered not a word of protest.

Later, when they were about to leave, Justin asked, "Why do you think Archon implanted the location of these armories in your memory?"

"So I'd know where to go for weapons once I started to build my army," Solan answered.

That was what the former Ranger had surmised too. The two of them had no real use for so many weapons. The building, on the other hand, was isolated, sturdy, and only a half day's travel from Athens.

"Solan, how would you feel about coming back here later?"

"Why would we return?"

"Remember how I told you about the Command Center, the Power Rangers' base?"

"Yes."

"This place could be OUR base! We could pile up all the crates over on one side and arrange everything else however we want! We'd be right by Athens, but not in the city and we'd have somewhere to stay that wouldn't cost us anything."

Justin's obvious enthusiasm drew a smile from Solan, one which faded when he considered the problem with the plan.

"What if Xena does come back here?"

"Then we'll face whatever she does together."

"No! I don't want you getting hurt."

"We don't know she'll attack, and if she does, do you really think I'd leave you to fight her alone?" Justin queried the determination plain in his eyes.

After a moment of silence Solan nodded his agreement. Already beginning to plan for their return, the two resumed their journey to Corinth.

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	5. Chapter 5

They arrived two days later in the early afternoon, much to Solan's frustration. He'd been hoping the robbers would attack them on the road; then he and Justin could've defeated the dogs and wrenched from them the location of the group's hideout. Now merely finding the Red Valley Gang was going to be tough.

Curse the cowardly bandits to Tartarus! It was so much simpler when your enemy had the courage to stand and face you. Then you could pit your body and skills against his and decide the struggle at once through the purity of combat. Hiding merely delayed such resolution and thus was solely a strategy of the weak; he knew that better than anyone.

Unsettled by such grim musings Solan flexed his muscles almost instinctively, their impressive size and power reassuringly reminding him of how much he'd changed. He had grown strong, and he would use his strength to stop those who preyed on victims even weaker than themselves. That was what heroes did.

Behind him Justin coughed, and Solan wondered what his friend had made of his abrupt action. He would explain if the Ranger asked and he thought the older boy would understand. Ever since they'd left Xena's former armory the auburn-haired adolescent had been questioning him nonstop about his thoughts, his feelings and the alterations he'd undergone. Though hesitant to respond at first, the words had soon come pouring out of him. It was such a relief to be able to talk to his friend about, well, _everything_. There was a comfort in the baring of yourself to another, in the sharing of who you were with someone you trusted and cared about.

After they'd found a room to rent and dropped off their packs the Warrior Prince was ready to start scouring the countryside for the gang, but Justin had a different plan.

"First we should see what we can learn about them here in Corinth. The more information we have the easier it'll be to bring them to justice. If we're lucky maybe we can get an idea of where their camp is."

Given the reactions he'd received from speaking with Athenians, Solan wasn't eager to try talking here. If Justin wanted to, though, then that's what they would do.

They started their information-gathering in a large, airy tavern. When the bartender, a man with a weathered face and black beard, brought the wine they'd ordered Justin mentioned he'd heard there was a gang of bandits operating nearby.

"Yes, the Red Valley Gang! You were lucky to make it here without meeting them, but they aren't only going after travelers now! Three days ago a couple of them attended services at the Temple of Apollo and made off with the Urn!"

A frustrated glance from the teen let Solan know to take over the questioning, probably because Justin didn't know how to speak the Greek word for "urn".

"What urn?"

"The Urn of Apollo, a holy relic from the god himself! People have journeyed here from all over Greece to be cleansed by the Urn. Now it's gone."

"Is the city going to try and get it back?" Solan inquired.

"How? They haven't offered a ransom and no one knows where their camp is. Even if we did, they're vicious killers." His eyes traced over Solan for a second, taking in his weapons and build. "I can see you're a soldier, but if they find you on the road take my advice: Give them what they want. Better to lose your possessions than your life."

Outraged at the insulting counsel Solan fixed the bartender with an arctic, azure glare which made the man blink.

"Thank you," Justin broke in. "We will."

As the adult retreated back behind his bar the preteen Prince of Warriors turned the force of his ire onto the former Ranger. "No, we won't!" he snapped loudly.

"Let's talk about this outside," Justin urged. Rising the pair quickly left the tavern and, a few seconds later, a wild-looking girl with purple hair who'd been sitting in the corner followed them.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Justin led the way as they circled around to the back of the building, where they should be able to talk privately. The instant he stopped and turned to face his fuming friend the latter spoke.

"Why did you agree with him? We're here to stop those thieves, not surrender to them!" Solan practically shouted.

"We don't want anyone to know that," Justin argued with strained patience. "We're better off acting in secret."

"No, we're not! Did your Power Rangers act in secret? Or did they oppose their enemies openly?"

"That was different," Justin asserted. "We're trying to gather information here."

"People won't give us information if they don't know why we want it! The only reason I learned of the Red Valley Gang is because I told the travelers in Athens that I was Solan, the Warrior Prince, Xena's son!"

"What?" Justin demanded, his own anger rising. "Why would you do that?

"Because they thought I was a bandit myself! They needed to know that I wanted to protect them! Everyone should know that!"

Calming slightly the very well-built, flaxen-haired youth spoke more quietly, but with greater intensity. "You said when we found something we could help with we'd tell people who I am. This is something we can help with! It's why we came here in the first place!"

Justin took a deep breath, struggling for calm himself. Solan was being rash. It was too soon for him to reveal who his mother was and definitely too soon to be publicly proclaiming himself the Warrior Prince! They weren't ready for that yet!

He started to argue and stopped, deflated by the passionate conviction on his friend's face. In most matters the Grecian boy deferred readily to his opinion, perhaps too readily. Here, however, it was clear Solan had committed to this course heart and soul. In spite of his friend's exceptional mental flexibility and open-mindedness, Justin knew he wouldn't be able to persuade Solan, especially given what he had admittedly said in Eion. The Warrior Prince was determined to declare himself and there was nothing Justin could do but go along with it.

"Fine," Justin bit out. "We know the Red Valley Gang stole the Urn from the Temple of Apollo. Let's got there, you can tell them who you are, and we'll see what they can tell us about the robbers."

Ignoring Solan's pleased, excited smile the teenager walked past him and back around the corner of the tavern. In his irritation he didn't notice the shadow of another figure ahead as that person drew back. Turning left at the street he headed for the agora to find the Temple of Apollo.

Surprisingly the Temple wasn't located in the main square. In fact it was set on the outskirts of the city and faced away from the metropolis, with a very rough and rock-strewn path leading to the main doors. Now he could better understand why the thieves had been willing to strike here, given the relative ease of escape afterward.

He'd let Solan take the lead and the blond strode eagerly up the hill to the open doors. They entered the main worship area of the temple, a large, airy room with minimal furnishings. Three men and a woman knelt on the hard stone floor in prayer. Finishing one of the men stood up, saw the two of them and gasped.

"They've come back!" he shouted, rousing the remaining three from their devotions. One of the men pushed the woman behind him and fear was evident on all of their faces. From behind the tense set of Solan's broad shoulders suggested he was struggling with feelings of his own.

"No! We're not here to hurt anyone!" he loudly insisted, his palms up in a gesture of peace. "We just want to speak with the priest."

From a doorway in the wall behind the altar emerged a long-faced, short-haired boy of about sixteen, dressed in a blue robe. Behind him came an elderly, gray-haired man with a mustache and goatee. His blue robe was trimmed with golden thread and emblazoned with a symbolic representation of the sun.

"I am Dorus, Priest of Apollo," he declared in a smooth, self-assured voice. "You may speak with me."

As he and Solan approached the pair the worshippers hurried to the entrance, but paused there, watching. The teenager's Adam's apple bobbed nervously as he interposed himself between them and the priest, masking his terror with an unconvincing expression of ferocity. His action was a clear sign of devotion, especially since the tall adolescent was almost gaunt in appearance; Solan could have broken him in half with one hand.

Dorus laid a hand on his acolyte's shoulder and gently drew him back, coming forward himself to face them.

"Who are you and why are you here?" the old man asked.

"I am Solan, son of Xena, and this is my friend Justin. We were told the Urn of Apollo was stolen from this temple. We're here because we want to get it back for you."

Dorus and his assistant stared at them, while those near the door began whispering to each other.

"You truly are the offspring of Xena, the Warrior Princess?" the cleric questioned.

"Of her and of Borias," Solan confirmed. However mixed his feelings about his mother, his pride in his lineage was obvious.

"Is Xena nearby then? Could you bring her to help us?"

Justin saw the knuckles of Solan's right hand whiten as his fist clenched, but his voice remained even.

"I don't know where my mother is. _I _am here to help you, and so is Justin. Tell us what you know of the theft and the bandits and we will recover your Urn; I swear it!"

The priest studied Solan for a moment before his eyes flicked to Justin. He seemed to reach a decision.

"Come with me," he said and turned back toward the door he'd entered by. They followed him into a small room with a wooden table set with plates, utensils and various food items, two chairs, a fire pit, a spit, a cauldron and hole in the ceiling. Two more doorways were in the far wall, but the holy man of the sun god lowered himself into the nearest chair before speaking.

"Do you know of the Urn's history?"

Solan shook his head and Justin followed suit.

"It was a gift to this temple from Apollo himself decades ago. Materially it's a foot tall with twin handles, beautifully painted and jewel-encrusted. The Urn's true value, however, is not monetary but spiritual. Those ritually anointed with oil from the Urn are forgiven for their past misdeeds. The Urn of Apollo has given a new start to so many who have erred, confirming them in their repentance and bestowing upon them the strength to face their inner demons. Knowledge of the Urn's promise has helped bring people enshrouded in darkness into the light!"

Justin couldn't help being moved by the priest's words. His parents hadn't been religious and that was part of what had made losing Mom so hard; he hadn't known where she had gone, whether she even still existed in any form or not.

His experience with Archon had ended his agnosticism, but hadn't instilled him with any particular faith. Still, the knowledge that there were higher powers in the universe had altered his view of the world. He could understand the attraction of divine forgiveness now, and could imagine how lives could be changed for the better through the use of this Urn.

"I tell you this because I want you to understand how important the Urn is and how greatly it helps people. Only that knowledge prevents me from refusing your offer."

"The men who stole the Urn are ruthless and dangerous. Please, think of what you are proposing to do! I would not see your lives lost in a vain attempt to regain the Urn. Do you truly believe you can overcome these bandits?"

Justin more than half-expected Solan to explode at this, but if anything he seemed calmer than he'd been out in the main area of the temple.

"Yes, we do." The matter-of-fact surety in his voice, the same tone Justin heard whenever the younger boy was instructing him on a point of close combat or swordsmanship, told Dorus they would not be dissuaded.

"Then I will pray to Apollo to watch over and protect you."

"What can you tell us about the bandits and how they stole from you?" Justin asked, inwardly cursing at not having had Solan sound out the Greek word for urn to him earlier.

"They've been stealing from travelers on the road near Corinth for years, but this is the first time they've ventured into the city itself. There are well over a dozen of them, though only two came to the temple. They pretended to be here to receive the blessing from the Urn, mixing in with the true worshippers. I conferred the blessing on one, but when I moved to the other he struck me and drew a weapon. He threatened to kill me if I tried to bless him!"

"I fear that one may dwell too far in the shadow for the light of Apollo to reach him."

"What did they look like?" Solan wanted to know.

"The first man was in his mid-twenties, tall and auburn-haired. He looked healthy and strong, and his features were well-formed. The second man was older, perhaps thirty. His hair was pale blond, but it was already quite thin and swept back over his head. I could see the anger in him, but I thought the Urn would help him. Oh, and both men wore earrings."

"Would you know them if you saw them again?"

"Always. Before their coming this temple had never been profaned with violence."

"Is there anything else you can tell us that might help?"

The old man bowed his head for a moment before raising it. "No. That is all I know."

"Thank you. We will get the Urn back for you," Solan promised. He turned to leave and Justin followed, answering the hopeful smile of the acolyte standing by the door with a reassuring one of his own.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

He'd traveled to Corinth to smash the Red Valley Gang, and in so doing take his first step along the road to being a hero. By stopping these robbers he and Justin would be serving the cause of good, protecting the innocent and bringing justice to the evil. After the conversation with Dorus, however, he no longer simply wanted to defeat this band of thieves; he wanted to tear each of them limb from limb!

It was bad enough to steal money and goods which didn't belong to you, and even worse to take them through force. But to steal people's faith, to take away their chance for forgiveness? That was an abomination!

He'd always known the importance of forgiveness, but he hadn't truly understood its value until he'd committed dark deeds himself.

The events remained as clear in his mind as a placid pool. Every second of his battles with Justin, every kick, every punch, was carved deeply into his memory. He could close his eyes and see his friend strangling in midair above him, the Ranger's throat compressed in his newly powerful right hand. Equally vivid was the image of Justin lying helpless at his feet, a blocked artery bringing the teenager closer and closer to death.

He'd done all of this in the mistaken belief Justin had betrayed him, when the bitter truth was that _he_ had betrayed _Justin_! And how had the Ranger reacted to his treachery? Not by cutting him down in self defense, but by sparing his life and opening his eyes to how he'd been deceived!

Afterward he'd feared for weeks that the Ranger would never be able to excuse his actions. When Justin had unexpectedly forgiven him . . . well, he lacked the words to properly describe how that had felt.

That feeling was what the Red Valley Gang sought to deny people, and that was why he would recover the Urn of Apollo, or die in the attempt.

As they exited the temple a teenage girl leaning against a boulder bordering the path straightened and stepped toward them. She was quite a sight, roughly Justin's height, with dark, spiky hair dyed purple in the middle and woven into multiple braids in the back. She had on a mesh shirt which bared her taut, tanned midriff, a thin leather belt and leather pants. She also wore golden earrings, a necklace whose chain was strung with small pewter ovals, and a pair of studded leather bracelets. She stretched out insolently as they approached her, moving in an almost feline manner.

"Gonna try to get the Urn back now?" she asked in a cocky tone, her arms crossed.

Solan stopped in surprise and glanced back at Justin, whose confusion mirrored his.

"We are going to get the Urn back, but how do you know that? Who are you?"

"Name's Tara. Lucky for you I heard you talking at the tavern and followed you outside. So you're Xena's kid?" she asked, giving him an up and down appraising glance he was becoming familiar with.

"Yes, Xena is my mother," he asserted firmly.

"Who's your father, Hercules?" Tara queried, her eyes roaming appreciatively across his body. Solan paused, not knowing how to respond. If he'd thought she was mocking him he would have grown angry, but that wasn't his impression. In fact her gaze, the tone of her question, and accompanying grin all combined to stir a strange fluttering feeling in the twelve year-old's torso.

"What do you want?" Justin snapped abruptly, stepping up into Solan's peripheral vision.

"The same thing you guys do: to be a hero, fight for good and kick some serious butt!"

The corners of Solan's mouth twitched upward involuntarily. He couldn't have put it any better himself.

"Do you know how to fight?"

"Want me to show you how much I know about fighting?" Tara demanded belligerently, taking a step toward Justin.

"Stop," Solan curtly commanded. "Tara, thanks for offering to help, but-"

"I can be valuable to you," she interrupted. "I used to hang with a Red Valley guy. I know where one of their hideouts is, and I'll lead you straight to it."

Again he exchanged glances with Justin. This was what they'd been hoping for, wasn't it? Meeting up with someone who knew where the gang was?

"If you can show us where the Red Valley Gang is hiding we'll do the rest."

"Hey, I can handle myself in a fight!"

"Ready to prove that?" Solan asked challengingly. Maybe it would have been slightly fairer to let her fight Justin, but he could better evaluate her than the Ranger, and he'd definitely enjoy the experience more.

He shifted fluidly into his stance, treating her with the caution appropriate for an unknown opponent. She by contrast charged forward, firing a fast right cross at his face, a blow he blocked with his wrist. An instant later he did the same for a punch aimed at his stomach and used his leg to block a kick directed at his groin. He fell joyfully into the flow and rhythm of the battle, smoothly dodging and countering her strikes without attacking back. He didn't want to take her down before he'd had a chance to see how good she was.

Within a few minutes he had reached his judgment. Tara was quick, coordinated, and fought with a wild intensity, but it was clear she hadn't been given much instruction. The raw talent was there, but she lacked the skill of a trained, experienced warrior, such as himself or Justin. As her blows continued to fail to land her frustration visibly grew. Punching high once again with one fist her other hand darted forward to grab the chakram at his belt.

Startled he seized her wrist, kicked her legs out from under her and used his greater weight and bulk to pin her to the earth.

"What are you doing?"

"Fighting. You wanted me to fight my best, right? And you didn't get hurt."

Well, yes, he had wanted her to do her best. He just hadn't expected her to go for a weapon like that, especially _his_ weapon! She'd done him a favor, though; he'd never considered that an enemy might try to grab his chakram in close combat.

"So are you going to get off me? Or were you planning on really getting to know me better?" she inquired.

What was she- oh. OH! Feeling the blood rushing to his face the Warrior Prince scrambled awkwardly to his feet, profound embarrassment mixing with that odd stomach fluttering feeling again.

Tara rose much more languidly, as if she and not he had been the victor here. "Maybe later," she whispered, and then she winked at him!

"When the battle begins we will protect you," Justin put in.

"I don't need anyone to protect me!" Tara protested angrily.

"Tara, you have to listen to us. We've already lost friends, we don't need to lose you too," Solan confided.

"Fine. Can we go now?"

"How long to get there?" Justin asked.

"If we leave now we can make it to their camp only a little after nightfall."

That sounded great to him! Looking over again at his partner Solan inquisitively arched a single eyebrow. The teenager bit his lip, but sighed and gave a tiny nod.

"Lead the way," the Warrior Prince invited with a wide smile


	6. Chapter 6

As they headed due north Tara told them what she knew of the Red Valley Gang. According to her there were fifteen members of the group and their leader was a man named Wayon, who matched the description Dorus had given of the bandit who struck him. Such cruelty was apparently not out of character for Wayon; he tended to be absolutely vicious with anyone who disobeyed or resisted him.

A bully, Solan concluded grimly, in charge of a band of bullies. It'd be a lot of fun showing these thugs exactly what it felt like to be defeated and at the mercy of your conqueror.

Some of members of the group were ex-soldiers while others were lifelong criminals. He doubted any of them would be a real challenge individually, but with odds of fifteen against two they could triumph through sheer weight of numbers in an open battle. He and Justin would have to be careful in how they engaged the robbers, especially since he'd promised his friend they would try to take the bandits alive.

It hadn't been a difficult vow to make. He had killed once already, and he didn't regret it; unlike Justin, he had come to terms with the concept of killing evil people in the heat of battle. Only a few months ago, though, _he'd_ been the evil one, mistakenly trying to murder an innocent person. How far then could he trust his own judgment on who to slay and who to spare? In light of that gnawing doubt, and given the terrible, irreversible consequences of a mistake, Justin's insistence on sparing lives when possible seemed very wise to him.

"So does the gang use any distance weapons? Slings or javelins?" he inquired of Tara.

"A couple of the guys have spears. The rest use swords, daggers and a few axes."

"How did you end up being around them?" Solan wanted to know. It was hard to envision her with such scum.

"Because I'm bad," she said sharply. "I'm not a goody-goody like you, but I'm trying to turn it around."

"I haven't always been good either," the Warrior Prince admitted, surprised and disconcerted by her self-condemnation.

"Oh, yeah? What have you done?"

"I got angry, listened to lies, and nearly killed a friend because of them."

Now he'd taken her by surprise. "What'd Xena say about that?"

"She doesn't know. We're more enemies than family," he explained, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice.

"But Xena's a heroine! She goes around saving people all the time! Why wouldn't the two of you get along?"

"She's a heroine _now_; she was a warlord when she had me. When she abandoned me."

"That's why I never heard Xena had a son before, isn't it? She gave you away to someone else to raise."

"She did that, and worse. You want to talk bad, you should hear what my mother got up to in her Destroyer of Nations days. She turned around, though, just like you're doing."

His words seem to embarrass her. "You know, you sound like a sap when you talk that way," she said spitefully.

Stung he moved off a bit. Normally walking so close to another person would have made him tense, but as space opened up between them he found himself regretting the distance.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

He didn't like her.

Which was more than unfair since he'd only met her a few hours ago, but there was no denying Tara rubbed him the wrong way.

Of course the same had been true of Jo, at first. Her tough, aggressive attitude had irritated him to no end, exactly as Tara's had done. He and Jo, however, had quickly bridged their divide with everything they had in common as teenage super-heroes. They'd gotten along great then, talking up a storm while Solan trailed quietly along behind them.

This situation was the other way around, with Solan and Tara conversing in animated tones as he brought up the rear. It was only to be expected, given they were the ones with things in common here. He could've tried joining in the conversation, but his Greek vocabulary wasn't large enough yet for him to feel entirely comfortable doing so. Besides, Solan was doing a fine job of getting information from her about the Red Valley Gang. In that respect he had to concede she was an important find; he'd expected to have to search the surrounding countryside for days in order to locate the bandits.

So they needed her, but her demeanor and the fact that she'd eavesdropped on them bothered him. He was also irritated by how forthcoming Solan was being with her; the twelve year-old certainly wasn't holding much back. For a while there'd been an uncomfortable silence between the two after Tara had gotten insulting, but eventually she had asked him where he'd grown up and their conversation had gradually resumed.

They stopped about an hour early for dinner, having swung back to grab their packs right before leaving Corinth. After all, there was no sense going into battle on an empty stomach or having just eaten. Since Tara hadn't brought any food with her Solan shared some of his with her. Considering his appetite these days it was hard not to see the move as a generous sacrifice on his part.

Night fell soon afterward, but Tara led them on without pause. How often had she been to this camp, that she could find it in the dark like this?

After they'd penetrated a short way into a small forest overgrown with grass, bushes and shrubs, Tara stopped and held up a hand.

"Okay, we're getting close now. The site they use for their camp is just ahead. I'll go check it out and let you know if they're there."

Without waiting for a response the purple-haired girl disappeared into the darkness, leaving them alone. Simultaneously the two unslung their packs and lowered them to the ground.

Justin glanced over to see Solan standing almost at attention and radiating a tense, controlled eagerness, like a well-trained hunting dog about to be let off the leash. It was a somewhat unsettling picture and he found himself hoping his friend wouldn't succumb to recklessness or bloodlust when the fighting began. Not that either was likely, given the restraint Solan had shown during their sparring matches, but then this would be their first time battling real opponents together-or at least their first time doing so while on the same side.

"Have you thought at all about how we're going to handle this?" Justin asked probingly. It was something they should have discussed sooner, but Solan had been so intent on his conversations with Tara. The only thing they'd established already was that they would try to take the criminals alive, which was why there'd been a large coil of rope in Justin's backpack since before they'd left Athens.

"We'll have to see what Tara can tell us about their positioning first. In general, though, their greater numbers would make a frontal assault foolish. All the trees and bushes here work to our advantage in terms of concealment; we might be able to snatch a few of them from the edges of the encampment without being seen. If so that would be our best course of action. We can reduce the odds against us by as much as possible while keeping our presence and numbers hidden. The more of them we can make disappear that way the more it will hurt the morale of those who are left. They're bandits, not soldiers, and we might be able to break their will to resist, especially if we can capture Wayon. "

Justin blinked, taken aback by the incisive analysis. Solan had mentioned Archon had implanted information about tactics and strategy in his mind, but Justin hadn't realized the full breadth of that knowledge. He should have, though; Archon had intended for the Warrior Prince to command entire armies and become the new Destroyer of Nations. He was standing here talking with a boy literally born to conquer the world!

Thank goodness that wasn't going to happen now, Justin thought with an overwhelming sense of relief. But the profound understanding of everything from individual battles to the clashing of kingdoms was still there in Solan's mind to draw upon, and he was making good use of it.

"I agree," he concurred rather lamely, surprised to see Solan beaming at his approval. "Wait, wouldn't we be better off attacking later while they're sleeping?"

Solan shook his head. "It would be hard to subdue a guard before he could sound the alarm. Even if we could keep him quiet, we're here to take the gang prisoner, not kill them in their sleep. Trying to bind them one by one would make noise and wake the rest. Then we'd be trapped in the middle of their camp with enemies on all sides, the worst possible situation for us."

Justin nodded, not having anything else to say. He was used to Solan teaching him about hand-to-hand and swordsmanship, but this was wholly new to him. With his Rangering experience he had kind of unconsciously assumed he would be calling the shots in situations like this, but apparently he'd been wrong.

"Were you going to let Tara fight?"

"No. She's a fine novice, but she's not at our level and she doesn't even have a dagger! There's no reason for her to risk herself."

"What do you think of her otherwise?"

"I think she's made mistakes and now she's trying to do the right thing." Unspoken followed the words 'Like me'. "She's giving us the help we need and we should make sure she gets credit back in Corinth."

Justin considered whether to pursue this line of conversation, but was saved from making a decision when Tara reappeared.

"They're still there, nine of them. I say we jump them from three directions-"

"You said there were fifteen in the gang; where are the other six?" Justin demanded.

"How should I know?" Tara retorted.

Solan looked troubled and quickly related the reason.

"The one who aren't there could return to camp at the wrong time and trap us between them and the rest of the group."

He fell silent after that, obviously thinking.

"Was Wayon there?" he asked.

"No, he wasn't," Tara answered.

Worse and worse.

"Are you guys really gonna wimp out because you're scared of people who aren't even _here_?" Tara asked scornfully.

"We won't "wimp out", but we're not going to be stupid either," Justin shot back.

Tara's eyes narrowed at the implication. Justin hadn't meant it that way . . . or maybe he had, he admitted to himself. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly to say something cutting, but Solan interrupted.

"Tara, how are they positioned?"

"Four of 'em are in a circle right around the fire, talking. A couple of 'em are stretched out on their bedrolls and the other three were moving around the campsite; I don't know what they were doing."

"Is anyone standing guard, looking for intruders?"

"No. I told you, these guys feel safe here; they don't think they need a guard."

"How big an area of the forest have they cleared out?"

"Not a lot; they wanted to make sure their site would stay hidden. It's only a little hole, maybe thirty by thirty.

Solan fell silent for a moment before speaking. "Tara, would they still trust you? Do you think maybe you could get the attention of one of them and lure him away from the camp?"

"Totally!" Tara enthused.

"I though you weren't going to have her fight!" Justin protested.

"I'm not! I only want her to get a gang member to where I can ambush him. Once I've got him helpless I can find out from him where the rest of the gang has gone."

"And what if they come back in the meantime?"

Solan drew in a deep breath and let it out. "That's why I need you to remain here and make sure no comes from this direction toward the camp."

"You want me to stay behind?" Justin demanded, unable to believe he was hearing his friend right.

"Tara can help me take a gang member, and you're much better suited than her to defending yourself if you must," the large Greek preteen explained in a rush. "Don't try to fight them, though! As soon as you see any sign they're coming, slip away and get us. Otherwise we'll come to you with our prisoner after we question him so we can decide on our next move."

He was serious! He was sending Justin off to be a sentry while he and Tara worked together to catch one of the bandits. The two boys wouldn't be fighting side by side at all, not this time; Solan had chosen another partner instead. And all the logic and tactical reasoning in the world couldn't keep Justin from feeling a sharp stab of hurt at that decision.

The little smirk Tara was wearing only made it worse, as did her words.

"Yeah, go stand watch, Justin. We'll handle this," she assured him patronizingly.

"I think this is the best way," Solan emphasized firmly while gazing anxiously at the Ranger.

Why? Did he think Justin was going to protest or argue with him? What would be the point?

"Go then," he ordered flatly. Intellectually he knew he was being ridiculous. He and Solan had gone through _Hell_ together! They had a bond forged by adversity, affection, sympathy, and even guilt. They were partners and friends, and that wasn't going to change. Solan did seem to like Tara, but they had only just met today. There was no rational basis for him to feel as if he was being replaced.

But he did.

"We'll take the packs with us in case Wayon and the others do come back this way," Solan elaborated, hefting his own pack.

"Right," Justin acknowledged curtly, as Tara picked up and shouldered _his_ pack. The two started to head further into the forest, but Solan turned back toward him.

"Be careful!" he urged Justin, and the Ranger nodded.

Then the greenery of the woods swallowed both figures.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Crouching he followed Tara as they crept through the foliage, the lithe teenager ghosting through the woods in impressive silence. Unfortunately with his greater size he wasn't as well-suited for stealth; a couple of times he rustled bushes which the more slender Tara had been able to slip between. It didn't help that he wasn't wholly focused on the task before him.

He was bothered by the look he'd seen on Justin's face and fervently hoped the former Blue Turbo Ranger wasn't resentful about him taking the lead here. He hadn't meant to be domineering, but this was his world and his role; it was only natural he be in charge. The older boy certainly knew a library full of things he never would, yet in the narrow realm of combat-related matters he stood well above Justin and would not pretend otherwise. The fourteen year-old might be a former Power Ranger, but _he_ was the Warrior Prince!

And as the Prince of Warriors he had best concentrate on what he was doing, else he risked being slain by a handful of thugs! Whatever the problem was, he and Justin could talk about it and work it out later.

Ahead of him Tara came to a halt and gently eased Justin's pack off and onto the ground. He did the same as Tara addressed him in a whisper.

"Okay, I'll lure one over here for you."

He nodded, excitement and anticipation again welling up within him.

He watched as Tara strolled casually toward the edge of the camp. A man emerged into Solan's sight, evidently having seen her. He was tall and homely, with long brown hair, a wide headband and a patchworn leather vest.

"Lark, there's somebody trying to sneak up on you," she told him.

He stiffened, turning back toward the others, and the preteen instinctively grabbed at his chakram.

"You don't need them," she told him and Lark turned to face her again. "A man like you can do this alone," she continued coyly. "Let's go."

He hesitated before pulling a surprisingly shiny short sword from his belt and starting in Solan's direction.

Solan sank down further in the long grass, as Tara led the man off to his left. When he thought it was time he partially rose and lunged forward at the bandit, slamming a fist into his opponent's stomach. When the adult doubled over he brought his right elbow down on the nape of man's neck with enough force to send him to the ground. The sword fell from a limp hand and Solan twisted his captive's arm behind his back before wrapping his own right arm tightly around Lark's neck.

Half-lifting, half-forcing his prisoner up, he marched the man into the woods, away from the camp. When they'd gone as far as he though was safe he turned to Tara, who had brought the packs and, at his urging, the short sword.

"Search him for other weapons," he told her.

Her hands slapped roughly at Lark's vest and boots as she felt for anything. She shook her head and Solan loosened his suffocating hold on the man's throat.

"Don't scream if you want to live," he whispered menacingly as his captive coughed. "Now where are Wayon and the others?"

"Go to Tartarus!" the man gasped out.

Solan frowned. He had expected more cooperation than this.

"You better tell him what he wants to know, Lark, or that's where you're going," Tara taunted.

"You traitorous little bitch!" Lark cursed and Solan warningly twisted the man's arm further, eliciting a gasp of pain.

"Hey, Solan, do you know how to do Xena's neck pinch?" Tara asked. "The one that'll kill a guy in a minute if she doesn't release it?"

"Yes, I do," he admitted, feeling an uncomfortable pang of guilt as he recalled the only two times he'd ever used the technique in real life-on Justin.

"Do it to him!" Tara urged. "If he doesn't talk he dies! We can always go grab another one."

He felt his captive stiffen against him in reaction to Tara's words. Should he ? He couldn't deliberately let the man die, not like this, but he _could_ scare his prisoner. If he didn't, his only other choice would be to start beating up the bandit. He could do that as well, but it struck a little too close to some of the things he'd done in the Battlefield for comfort.

Moving slightly to the right, he released Lark's arm, grabbed the man with both hands and shoved the surprised criminal back over his extended left leg. Smoothly dropping down next to the man he jabbed at the tiny, vital point on Lark's neck.

Tara dropped down on the other side of the prone man.

"This is so great! You're gonna die, Lark, unless you start singing!"

"Where are Wayon and the others?" Solan repeated, counting in his head to keep track of how long Lark had left.

"They went north," Lark gasped out. "They were going to sell that Urn to a group of Silesian traders Wayon knows."

No! The Urn was already gone!

"Where?" Solan demanded harshly.

"Probably one of the hills a few miles south of the old keep. They'll use the smoke of a signal fire to bring in the traders!" he said.

"How far a head start do they have?"

"They left this afternoon, but they're not making the trade until noon tomorrow, I swear!"

"He's telling the truth," Tara announced contemptuously. "He doesn't have the guts to lie like this."

Either way, time was up. Solan struck the neck again, releasing the artery blockage he'd created, and Lark went limp in relief.

"That was incredible!" Tara complimented him and he couldn't keep from grinning happily at the praise.

Rising Solan's expression hardened as he stared down at the fearful robber.

"Tara, get the rope," he said.

She brought the coil out from Justin's pack.

"I'll tie him up," she eagerly volunteered.

"Roll over and put your hands behind your back," Solan ordered their prisoner, who obeyed without hesitation.

As Tara bound him, however, he did protest.

"Aaahh, too tight!"

In response she jerked the rope even tighter, making Lark hiss.

"How's that then? You like that, Lark?" she jeered, knotting the ropes with particular relish.

"Stay there," Solan ordered. "We won't kill if you don't make us."

With a jerk of his head he motioned for Tara to come over and they retreated a little way from their prisoner, speaking in low tones.

"You can take it easy, Tara," he gently reproved her. He didn't think Lark would cause any trouble now, and they'd gotten what they wanted from him.

"Hey, you don't know this guy like I do! He's a jerk and he deserves whatever I do to him!"

"He'll get what he deserves when we get him to Corinth. Until then we shouldn't hurt him any more than we have to."

Not that he couldn't understand the impulse. He knew from experience how fantastic it felt to bully the bullies, to show them you were even more powerful than they were! That was one of his motivations for being here in the first place. Still, he also knew what Justin would say about mistreating prisoners, and he knew his friend was right.

"Why not?"

"Because we're the good guys," Solan reminded her.

"Fine, as long as I know the rules," Tara conceded, going back to take Justin's pack and stand Lark up. The three of them started back toward where the third member of their group was waiting.

"So how do you know what's good and what's not?" Tara asked quietly as they moved through the jungle.

"A lot of the time from talking with Justin," he admitted.

Tara snorted. "That guy? Seriously?"

"Justin's already a hero, Tara. He's been one for years and he's probably the smartest person you'll ever meet," Solan corrected her harshly. "He definitely knows good and evil better than you and I do."

"So what's his story then?"

"He'll have to tell you that himself," Solan said finally, aware Justin probably wouldn't want him going into detail about the Ranger's past.

"Do you think he was born good?" Tara asked, almost wistfully.

"I think-I think he might have been," the twelve year-old allowed, somewhat intrigued by the idea. Maybe Justin had been _destined_ to be an example of virtue, just as it was his destiny to be the world's greatest warrior. "There's no one better to teach someone how to be good."

They were back at the little clearing, yet there was no sign of the auburn-haired adolescent.

His heart quickened to a faster beat than when he'd been taking on Lark. Where could Justin be? He should have been safe here, damn it! Solan scanned the ground frantically, searching in vain for any sign of violence and cursing himself for having left his friend alone.

A sharp whistle drew his attention upward, to where Justin was perched on the branch of a tree. As the former Ranger dropped to the ground Solan tried, with considerable effort, to keep from bellowing at him.

"What were you doing up there? You should have stayed close to the ground, where you could get away. You don't want to be trapped in a tree!"

Justin's eyes went cold. "I could see farther up there and I was better hidden."

"That's not worth the drawbacks!" Solan contradicted hotly. "You never would have gotten down from there without being seen!"

"Well, I'm sorry I can't do everything as well as you can, Warrior Prince," Justin shot back with bitter sarcasm.

Solan actually flinched away from the words, his gut twisting as he stared at Justin in astonished hurt. The resentment in that voice and the openly malicious use of his title had left him genuinely shaken. Had-had he deserved that somehow? What had he done to warrant it?

Justin's own expression went from hard anger to uncertainty, or maybe even regret. He opened his mouth and closed it again witho without saying anything. Tara leapt into the silence.

"So what are we gonna do with Lark?" she queried, shoving their prisoner forward a bit.

Justin turned to the man almost eagerly. "He's one of the Red Valley Gang? Did he tell you where the others are?"

Justin didn't look at Solan when he asked the question and somehow the Grecian boy couldn't bring himself to answer it.

"Yeah, Wayon and the others went north. They're gonna sell the Urn to some Silesian traders."

"So we're too late?"

"No, they're not meeting up with them til noon. We leave at first light and we can make it there before the trade happens."

"Then we won't be able to capture the bandits here to take to Corinth, though," Justin reasoned.

"We can't, not if we want to get the Urn back before it's gone."

He should say something, make his opinion known, but to his dismay he found he was reluctant to risk inviting Justin's scorn on him again. Instead he simply stood there and listened.

The former Ranger finally looked at him. "Solan, what do you think we should do?" he inquired gently.

"I told Dorus I'd bring him back Apollo's Urn," he reminded Justin, his voice only a little unsteady.

Justin nodded and turned back to Lark. "Then what do we do with him?"

"Don't kill me!" Lark pled, his eyes darting among them.

Solan grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, whirling the man to face him. "Why shouldn't we?" he growled menacingly, obscurely grateful to have a target for the feelings roiling around inside him. "If we don't you'll just go running back to your gang and warn them. Won't you?"

"I won't!" Lark swore feverishly. "I'll go somewhere else! I'll go to Athens!"

Solan stared down the twenty-something man and slowly brought his honed chakram up to eye level in his right hand. Ignoring Justin's cry of "Solan!" he spun the man back around and used the weapon to slice through the ropes binding his hands.

"You'd better," he intoned grimly. "Because I if see you anywhere near the Red Valley Gang again, then as Xena is my mother, I'll kill you."

Lark threw one glance back over his shoulder and took off through the woods, in the direction opposite the camp.

Returning the chakram to the hook on his belt Solan addressed his two companions.

"Let's get moving. If he changes his mind we want to be far away before we make camp. Tara, do think you could find us a good spot?"

"Yeah, sure," she agreed. With her leading the way the trio headed out.

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	7. Chapter 7

He felt awful.

He had from the second he'd seen that stunned, wounded look appear on Solan's face. Whenever he was sad or unhappy the oversized twelve year-old always looked his true age. The sight was enough to give Justin the distinct impression he had just kicked a puppy.

Except a real kick Solan could have fielded with ease. Justin's harsh words, on the other hand, he'd had no defense against and they had clearly struck him hard.

Damn it, what had he been thinking, talking to Solan like that?

He hadn't been thinking, that was the problem; he'd been feeling instead. He'd been feeling insecure, jealous and frankly superfluous. Then when Solan had yelled at him like that for what he'd thought was a good idea he'd lost his temper. He'd lashed out and done more damage verbally than he could have physically.

He could tell that by the way Solan kept his distance as they followed Tara to their campsite, by the uncomfortable silence which hung over the group until they'd reached the campsite. They still had their sparring to do tonight and guilty as he felt he'd have a hard time blaming Solan should the latter "forget" to pull a blow.

Once they'd set down the packs in a new clearing, however, Solan took a cloth from his pack and headed out toward edge of the forest they'd left behind. He needed a tree for his exercise routine, but they always sparred _before_ he exhausted himself, not afterwards.

"What about sparring?" Justin questioned.

Solan glanced back at him over one tanned, broad shoulder. "I don't feel like it tonight," he claimed indifferently. "I'm just going to do my drills and exercise."

"I want to see this!" Tara announced, going after him, while Justin swallowed hard. He knew very well how much enjoyment Solan got out of their sparring sessions. The idea of him "not feeling like" doing one was ludicrous. He must be even more upset than Justin had thought.

Should he go after Solan and apologize immediately? He'd frankly hoped not to have to do that in front of Tara, but to Hell with his pride; it was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

No, now wasn't the best time. Better to give him a chance to cool off first. Before they turned in, though, he would tell Solan he was sorry.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

After finishing his sword and close combat drills Solan had found his usual exercise routine less taxing than usual, for several reasons. First, he hadn't spent any energy sparring beforehand. Second, it helped somehow to have an audience. Justin rarely watched him exercise, but Tara's eyes never left him, her attention riveted to every play and flex of his bulging, straining muscles. Third and finally he had extra motivation to focus solely on working his body, shutting out all other thoughts.

It was just as well he'd needed to exert himself less, since there was no river nearby to wash the perspiration from his achingly tired form. He put the cloth to use for that purpose, while Tara let out a low whistle.

"I thought you were gonna rip that tree right out of the ground! You _sure_ you're not Hercules' kid?" she asked teasingly, and he smiled at her. At least someone appreciated him. That self-pitying thought turned his smile into a grimace.

Remembering Justin's gibe was like drinking sour wine; it made him feel sick. He had never meant to make the former Ranger feel like less than he was. He knew firsthand the shame and frustration of partnering with an ally markedly your better in combat. Before tonight, though, Justin had seemed to take the shift in the balance of power between them in stride. He had readily accepted Solan's tutelage in the arts of battle and was making steady progress. Yet apparently the Warrior Prince's newfound superiority to him had bothered the teenager more than he'd let on

He wished the fourteen year-old would have said something sooner! Justin had confided in him about so many other things-how much he missed his father, his worries about being able to successfully impart his knowledge to the people here, his persistent homesickness for his own world-but never anything about this. Had he felt he needed to conceal it for the sake of their friendship? Didn't he know by now that he could tell Solan anything?

Even with the knowledge, however, he didn't know how to fix the situation. This was who he _was_, and who he wanted to be! He could not downplay his skills and abilities without betraying himself. And even though Justin was coming along nicely, it would be some time before he reached Solan's level of expertise.

That was why he'd foregone sparring with the Ranger tonight. He couldn't imagine deliberately losing, yet he didn't think being beaten by him once more would do anything to help Justin's state of mind.

Lost as he was in his own thoughts Solan realized with a start how close Tara was standing to him, barely managing to check his instinctive defensive reaction.

"You're thinking about what Justin said, aren't you?" she asked him and he looked away without answering.

"Doesn't look so good now, does he?"

"He IS good!" Solan insisted heatedly, turning back to face her. "You don't know what he's done for me, how much he's helped me!"

"And now he's jealous of you," she whispered, taking another step forward, close enough for her warm breath to tickle his chin "because you're twice the man he is."

Why was she standing so close? It was . . . distracting. So was the way she was looking at him, her brown eyes seeming to bore into his. It was hard to think about what she was saying, especially with that weird feeling back in this stomach.

Tara slowly lifted a hand and with the tip of her index finger traced the contours of his pumped-up right pec, her feather-light touch seeming to leave a trail of fire blazing across his bronzed skin. What on Earth was she doing?

"But I like real men," Tara told him. Standing on her tiptoes she kissed him on the lips.

It was the second shock of the night and once again he was caught completely flat-footed, wholly lost as to how to respond. New sensations raced through him from the contact point at their lips. His heart pounded like a war hammer and he felt even hotter than he had while he'd been exercising. Reacting without thinking he wrapped his arms around her and practically crushed her to him as he kissed her back.

They broke apart and Tara gently pushed her way out of his embrace. "Let's not go too fast," she cautioned him.

Go too fast? He didn't even know _where_ he was going to begin with! He stared down at her almost in a daze, the phantom feelings of contact lingering pleasantly. He'd just had his first kiss! What in Hades' name were you supposed to do next?

"I wanted to be sure you were interested too," Tara confided. "Once we've got the Urn back we can celebrate and see where this goes. Sound good?"

"Y-yes," he got out, cursing himself inwardly for the stutter. He wasn't sure he wanted to wait, but at least doing so would give him time to sort out the chaotic jumble of his thoughts and feelings. Right now he could barely utter a coherent word, much less manage anything more demanding.

With another smile Tara turned and strode casually back toward the camp. The sight of her rolling hips and long legs demolished any paltry progress the twelve year-old had made towards clear thinking.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

It would have been great to have a watch (along with about a hundred other items of technology from the 20th century). Then he could objectively determine whether time really had slowed down, as it seemed to have done.

Not wanting to give their position away in case the gang was looking for them he hadn't dared to build a fire. Since there wasn't enough moonlight to read by, the only thing left for him to do was wait endlessly in the darkness for Solan and Tara to return.

Finally Tara came back to camp, looking rather solemn and pensive. Had she been intimidated at seeing for herself how physically powerful the young Warrior Prince was? Or maybe she'd tried to badmouth Justin to him and been verbally slapped down? No matter, Solan was his priority, and now he could see his friend coming toward the camp.

Standing up he approached Solan, the latter apparently so deep in thought he didn't even notice the Ranger until the former was only about a foot away.

Then the other boy's normal, perpetually combat-ready stance shifted minutely, the change adding a hint of defensive wariness to his body language. Trying not to wince at the sight Justin asked, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"I'm tired, Justin-"

"Please! It won't take long."

"Let's talk then."

He'd expected a smart remark from Tara, but she said nothing as they retreated about a dozen feet from the camp.

"I'm sorry, Solan. I was a jerk earlier; I didn't mean what I said."

"Then why did you say it?" the twelve year-old asked quietly, having gone motionless as he gazed at the teenager. "Was it out of jealousy that I'm a better warrior than you are?"

His tone wasn't one of angry, sneering challenge, but rather matter-of-fact, brutal directness. Always straight to the point, that was Solan.

"I guess-I guess I am a little jealous," he reluctantly confessed to the years younger, considerably bigger and radically more built boy with whom he spent almost every waking moment. It was a hard admission to make, since acknowledging his envy made him feel even smaller than he already did. There was no denying, however, that jealousy was part of what had led him to say what he had; not the greatest part by any means, but still a motivator.

"It's hard sometimes, knowing I can't match you in fighting or anything else physical. And then with the way you took charge tonight it was like you didn't even need me here at all; you and Tara handled everything yourselves." There was an embarrassing note of self-pity in Justin's voice as he finished speaking, one which the adolescent loathed but couldn't seem to suppress.

Solan's blue eyes opened wide as he stared at his friend. "Of course I needed you! Someone had to stand watch, and I never could have handled that entire group of bandits by myself! I couldn't do this without you!"

"I'm sorry if I made you feel otherwise by taking control, but Justin . . . this is who I am now, what I was meant to be! I have all of this tactical and strategic training in my head and I can't NOT use it! Do you understand?"

He had already concluded he didn't necessarily want to be leader, given his dismal performance in Archon's arena-prison. So how could he resent Solan taking on some of that responsibility in his place?

Besides, hadn't he felt exactly the way his friend was describing about his super-strength, back on that single glorious day when he'd had it? When you became truly special, you virtually _ached_ to show everyone just how special you were.

"Yeah," he replied quietly, honestly. "I do."

Solan stared searchingly at him for several seconds before relaxing in apparent relief.

"Thank you, Justin. And you really are improving on swordsmanship and hand-to-hand; I can see the progress."

Not exactly the most tactful thing to say, but he meant it encouragingly.

"Thanks," Justin replied, only a little dryly. "Anyway, it's good to know you can't get along without me," he joked lamely, but instead of laughing Solan only looked at him gravely. Feeling at once appeased and embarrassed he decided it wasn't worth bringing up the issue of Tara. It would only make him sound more pathetic, and after this mission was over they probably wouldn't see her again anyway. He started to turn back toward camp, when Solan asked him to wait.

"What is it?"

"Justin, what can you tell me about girls?" the blond asked, speaking so fast his words almost ran together.

For a long moment Justin could only gape at the preteen. Solan wanted to know about _girls_? Already? That was the last thing he would have expected!

Then a horrifying thought struck him. Oh, gosh, did Solan actually need someone to give him "The Talk"?

He_ DID_, didn't he?

"W-what do you want to know about them?" he managed to stammer out.

"Well, what should you do after a girl tells you she likes you?"

"That depends on if you like her or not," Justin explained, meanwhile clawing frantically inside for precious, precious calmness and self-posession.

"I think I do," Solan confided, and after a sadly long time the penny finally dropped for the one hundred and forty IQ teen.

So much for calmness and self-posession.

"TARA? You like Tara?" he demanded, louder than was strictly necessary.

"Yes. Do you like her too?" Solan questioned, his own voice's volume rising as well.

"No, I don't like her," Justin reassured him. "But I didn't know you did, not that way. I didn't know you were even noticing girls yet!"

"I felt funny the first time I saw her, but I didn't really know what it was. Then when she kissed me tonight-"

"She _kissed_ you?" Justin demanded, struggling valiantly to deal with each nightmarish new revelation as it came.

"Yes," Solan said, dropping his gaze and actually blushing.

"Did-did the two of you do anything besides kiss?" Justin questioned unsteadily. They had been gone a long time, after all . . .

"Well, I embraced her too," the long-haired youth clarified, and Justin sighed in relief. At least they hadn't gotten further than that.

Of course that they'd gone as far as they had was a total disaster. Tara was what? Sixteen? Probably pretty experienced too, especially after hanging around a friggin' bandit camp!

Solan, meanwhile, was all of _twelve_! This was his first kiss, the first girl he had ever liked! And it had to be Tara!

"Did I do something wrong?" he inquired nervously.

"What?" Justin asked distractedly.

"Should I have done something else after we kissed?"

"Why, did she want to do anything else?"

"No, she said we should wait until we'd recovered the Urn before going any further."

Thank goodness for that!

"Solan, are you sure you and Tara are right for each other?"

"Why wouldn't we be? She wants to be a heroine and help people too. She's brave and pretty and-", Solan broke off abruptly.

"Oh. I see what you mean," he told the Turbo Ranger gravely. "She'd be in danger with us, like I would have been if I'd gone with Xena as I was. Don't worry, Justin, I can train her and together we can protect her until she can defend herself. Just like you did for me, when we first met."

"She's a lot older than you are!"

"So?" he asked, unconcerned.

Justin rubbed at his forehead, where a head-ache was developing.

"I just don't want you getting hurt."

"That's why I need your advice, to make sure I don't mess up! So what should you do when you're dating someone?"

"Get to know her. That's the most important thing. That'll tell you whether you'll work together or not."

Geez, he sounded like Dear Abby or something! And no wonder, since he wasn't even speaking from personal experience. With Rangering, then the move, adjusting to the new school and worrying about the other Rangers off in space, he'd never . . .

He'd never even kissed a girl himself.

Damn it, Solan had beaten him again!

"What else?"

"Don't rush into anything physical. Take it slow," he went on almost mechanically.

"You mean no kissing?"

"Not too much. And-Solan, did Kaleipus ever talk to you about sex?"

"No!"

Of course he hadn't. And with all of Solan's parents, natural and adoptive, now deceased or absent, the responsibility for handling that particular job fell to Justin.

Unless he wanted to let Tara teach Solan about sex.

"You'd better sit down. Now, I want you to listen to me carefully . . ."

By the time he'd finished and answered all of his friend's questions his head-ache was throbbing painfully against his cranium.

On the plus side Solan was now very aware of the dangers and complications, not to mention the mechanics, of sex and he was pretty confident his friend had taken what he had said to heart. He wouldn't have to worry about Solan and Tara going all the way together. It was a single bright spot in an otherwise fairly bleak situation.

"You guys took a long time talking," Tara commented as they returned to the camp site.

Justin and Solan exchanged glances, neither making a reply.

"So did Justin apologize for being such a creep?" she asked.

"Tara!" Solan scolded. "Don't talk like that. It's done with. Let's just get some rest."

"I'd love to, 'cept I don't have anywhere to sleep," she pointed out.

She was right. He and Solan had both brought their bedrolls, but Tara had come unencumbered.

If she suggested sharing Solan's, he was probably going to hit her.

"You can have my bedroll," his friend offered.

"No, take mine," Justin jumped in. "You need a good night's sleep after exercising," he reminded Solan. "I'll be fine."

"Are you sure, Justin?" Solan wanted to know.

"Yes," he returned firmly.

"Thanks," Tara muttered, a tinge of surprise in her voice.

"You're welcome," Justin said as he carefully settled himself on the ground between the two bedrolls.

Sleep would naturally come hard in such a position, especially to someone without the warmth of a campfire and who was cursed with a pounding head and an inability to shut off his thoughts.

Should he have told Solan he didn't like Tara? Would that have made the other boy reconsider a relationship with her? If it did, though, how would Solan feel about giving up his first crush solely for Justin's sake? And wouldn't it be a pretty selfish thing for him to ask, just because he thought she was insulting and obnoxious?

That wasn't the only reason, though. Hadn't he seen tonight just how vulnerable He-Boy Solan was emotionally? His sarcasm had practically cut the legs out from under the younger boy! And in a first romance with a much older and more worldly woman how could he possibly NOT get hurt? How exactly was such a relationship supposed to end well?

Yet any meddling he did might only make the situation worse. So what was the right thing to do?


	8. Chapter 8

"Justin, it's time to get up."

Again he wished for a wristwatch. He would have sworn-_sworn_-that it was no more than twenty minutes ago that he'd finally dropped off. And now he was expected to get up?

"Come on, Justin. Eating breakfast will wake you up."

With a groan he opened his eyes. His head-ache had gone away during the night, but the pain seemed to have simply migrated to the rest of his body. He felt sore, stiff and sleepy enough to return to slumber at moment's notice.

As he sat up he Solan looked at him sympathetically.

"Rough night, wasn't it?" he asked rhetorically. "Sorry, Justin, you shouldn't have had to do that. Tonight I'll take the ground. Today's not even an exercise day, so there'll be no problem."

"Don't worry about it," Justin said, not altogether sincerely. "What's for breakfast?"

"The usual: bread dipped in wine and what's left of our grapes."

"Yeah, why do you guys eat grapes practically straight from the vine?" Tara butted in "Most people wait until they're made into wine first."

"Justin's used to eating grapes this way. Try them, they're good," Solan encouraged her.

"Still seems weird," Tara complained, tossing up a grape and catching it in her mouth.

So she was a morning person, like Solan. Wonderful.

After he'd eaten his fill the former Ranger took a look at what was left. There wasn't much.

"We're almost out of food!"

"I know. We've got enough for lunch and that's it. Whatever happens we'll need to find a village by this evening."

"We've used up most of our water, too," Justin observed, hefting the two water-skins. "Tara, you know the area. Can you show me where I could get these filled?"

"Though you were too tired to move?" she asked saucily.

"Justin, I can do it," the Warrior Prince immediately offered.

"No, I think a walk with some cold water at the end would help wake me up. Tara?"

"Come on then," she invited, rising and moving in an easterly direction.

"Solan, could you get everything ready to go by the time we get back?"

"Yes," he answered, but as Justin got up he hissed, "Justin, I can handle this! I don't need you to talk to her for me!"

"Let me talk to her for a bit, okay?" he requested in English, because Tara was listening. "I need to get to know her too, right?"

"All right," Solan agreed, but he didn't look happy about it.

"Let's go, Tara" Justin announced, switching back to Greek. Placing both skins into his pack he shouldered it and followed Tara.

They'd walked about twenty yards when Tara spoke, which was fortunate since Justin was still wrestling with himself over what to say.

"So what kind of language was that?"

"My language, from my homeland."

"Which is where?"

"Farther away from here than you could imagine."

"He told you, didn't he?" she inquired aggressively.

"Told me what?"

"Told you that I came on to him last night. Guys can't wait to brag to their friends."

"Solan is nothing like the guys you're used to."

"Oh, I can see that for myself," Tara acknowledged in a lascivious tone.

"That's not what I meant!" Justin disclaimed heatedly, starting to get angry. "Tara, he's only twelve!"

She stopped dead in her tracks and whirled to face him, her expression contorted in accusation.

"You're lying," she announced confidently.

"I am not! I know he looks like he could be your age, but I swear he really is only twelve! You're the first girl he's ever liked."

"And you can't stand that he likes me, can you? You've got him thinking you're Mr. Perfect and you don't want him getting to know anyone else and finding out different!"

The girl was insufferable!

"Solan already knows I'm not perfect," he got out through gritted teeth.

"That's not the way he acts! I dunno why he thinks you're some great example of goodness!"

"I helped keep him from making a bad mistake once. Now I'll help you the same way. Stay away from him."

"Or what?"

How had this whole thing gotten so out of hand so fast? He hadn't even intended to warn her off, or at least he didn't think he had. He'd just wanted to talk to her.

"Listen, I won't let you hurt him. He doesn't deserve that!"

"Oh, and someone bad like me could only hurt him, huh? Maybe you didn't hear him when he said he's done bad stuff too?"

"I know he has, but he's done doing bad things. Are you? Or would you just play around with him for fun?"

"Why, you want him for that yourself?" Tara taunted.

What? Wait, did she mean-? AUGH!

"You are such a bitch!" the fed-up fourteen year-old finally shouted.

"You better take that back, foreign boy," Tara threatened, clenching her fists.

Was she actually serious?

Then she charged him.

He barely ducked her first punch, still hardly able to believe she was attacking him! Her left jab actually grazed his cheek and he responded by punching her in the jaw. She hit the ground hard, but got right back up again.

"Are you crazy?" he asked as he backpedaled, hands raised. "I don't want to fight you!"

"I'm not afraid of you," she snarled and rushed him again. This time he met her charge with a sidekick to the midriff, the impact of which doubled her over.

"Stop!" he ordered, backing away even more, but when she looked up there was no surrender in her eyes.

Suddenly he had a vision of trying to explain what had happened to Solan, with hardly a scratch on him, while Tara sported a bloody nose, a split lip and maybe a black eye or two depending on how things went.

No, screw that! He wasn't about to play that game. Whirling he ran for the campsite, shouting his friend's name.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

He'd only just tied his bedroll to his backpack when he heard Justin calling for him.

He took off swiftly as a deer toward the sound, wondering fearfully and frantically what had happened.

Had Lark found his courage after all? Had the remaining bandits located Justin and Tara? If so, he WOULD kill Lark!

There was Justin up ahead now, running flat out. Skidding to a stop, he unhooked his chakram and cocked his arm, prepared to take out at least two of the Ranger's pursuers. But the only one chasing after him was _Tara_?

"Stop her!" Justin gasped as he ran past, the clearly furious female not far behind.

Hurriedly replacing the ring-blade at his belt, Solan stepped into her path, catching her by the arms as she ran directly into him. Being suddenly pressed up against her in this way made his heart beat faster and his mouth go dry. He had to swallow twice before he could speak.

"Tara, calm down!" he urged her, while suppressing his own feelings.

"Let me go! I'm gonna rip his head off!" she promised, struggling against him.

"What is going on?" Solan asked in aggravated bewilderment.

"We were arguing and she decided to attack me," the panting Turbo Ranger explained from about six feet behind him.

_What_?

"Tara?" he all but demanded.

"Let me go!" she repeated, struggling against him more energetically. If he tightened his grip any more he would bruise her, so he did release her. When she tried to lunge around him, though, he stepped directly into her way again.

"No fighting!" he announced definitively. Though she glowered at him Tara stopped trying to evade him. He couldn't help noticing that the exercise had brought color to her cheeks, her fair complexion allowing it to highlight-

Solan almost shook his head to get his mind back on track.

"What is going on here?"

"He doesn't think I'm good enough to be near you," Tara sneered, indicating Justin with a jerk of his head.

"Justin!" he snapped, aghast, turning to look disbelievingly at his best friend.

"That's not what I was trying to say," the adolescent defended himself. "But it's true because she's a jerk!"

The two glared daggers at each other and Solan felt his heart sink. Justin was wholly at odds with the girl he liked; how was he supposed to fix this? He was born and bred for war, not peacemaking!

"We need to get moving if we're going to make it to the Urn in time. Come on, the two of you can tell me everything on the way."

Roughly twenty minutes later, after swinging by to fill up the water-skins, he found himself furious with both of them.

"Justin, I told you I could handle this! You had no right to talk to Tara like that or order her to stay away from me! You're not my father!" he sternly lectured the teenager to his left. Then he turned to his right.

"Tara, I know Justin hurt your feelings, but you never should have attacked him! We're the good guys! We don't fight each other except in sparring! You've been nasty to him too, you know. If you're going to stay with us you've got to accept Justin."

"What about him accepting me?" Tara protested vociferously. "He thinks I'm a lost cause, just like everybody else!"

"That's not true!" Solan contradicted, lengthening his stride to pass Tara and then swinging around to face her. "Remember yesterday, when I told you how I nearly killed my friend because of a lie? That friend was Justin! And he didn't give up on me! He didn't decide I was too evil to live! He saved me! And there were other kids there, murderers and killers, and Justin didn't give up on them either, not until he had no other choice!

"That's how I know he doesn't think you're a lost cause. Do you, Justin?" he asked, turning toward his startled friend.

"No, I don't," he answered soberly.

"Why are you guys being so nice?" Tara declaimed angrily. "I'm bad, I know it! My Dad told me I was bad from day one!"

A shock ran through Solan. How could her own father say that to her? Then again, how could his mother abandon him? Thank the gods he'd had Kaliepus for most of his life.

"He was wrong! You can be good if you want to be, Tara! It's your choice. What you're doing now, helping us get Apollo's Urn back, that's good!"

"Yeah, well, let's go get the Urn then," she offered, her gaze down and to one side. She really was pretty, he thought, as a shiver ran up his spine. And he could help her, as Justin had helped him.

For a while it was silent, then he heard the former Ranger quietly saying, "I'm sorry, Tara. I was wrong."

It was frustrating to hear Tara answer sarcastically "Thanks."

Maybe she just needed more time.

They had lunch early and the sun had risen almost to its zenith when they came to a clearing strewn with large boulders. A black smudge of smoke rose from a heavily forested hill only about three hundred feet ahead.

"We're almost there!" the Warrior Prince crowed in exultation.

"Yeah, but so are they!" Justin said, pointing a few dozen feet to the right.

Five men in elaborate robes were walking in the direction of the smoke signal, along with two pure white horses whose backs were heavily burdened with goods.

"The Silesian traders!" Solan snarled, crouching low behind one of the rocks. "If we don't stop them now, they'll reach the bandits before we do."

"What do you think we should do?" Justin questioned.

Feeling a flash of gratification at being asked, the younger boy responded, "We should go down there and let them know the urn they're coming to buy is stolen."

"If they know Wayon they know he's a thief," Tara argued. "They're not gonna care!"

"Then we can attack with a clear conscience," Solan said, lowering his backpack to the ground. "We'll beat them and bind them."

"Let's go kick some butt!" Tara cried.

"No, Tara, you come afterward with the rope. Justin and I will take them."

"You're kidding me!"

"Tara, I'll be glad to begin training you how to fight later. Right now you shouldn't take any chances. Come on, Justin," he urged his ally, who had already dropped his own pack to the ground.

"They'll see us whichever way we come from, so let's confront them head on," Solan suggested. "If they react like Tara expected we attack."

On their diagonal course they soon came to a halt in front of the Silesians.

They were swarthy men, with dark hair and eyes, wearing head coverings and robes that covered them completely. Rather surprisingly only two of them had sheathed swords! This was going to be too easy!

"Do you come from Wayon?" asked one of the unarmed men asked in strangely accented Greek as the other two moved out in front of him.

"No! We're here to stop him. He stole the Urn of Apollo. You wouldn't buy it from him knowing that, would you?"

The men glanced around at each other and when they began laughing the Prince of Warriors moved.

A punch to the throat, then a jab to the nose, followed by an elbow strike to the right temple dropped the first armed man. Justin was handling the second, so Solan moved on to the spokesman. The man had stopped laughing, dawning surprise and fear in his eyes. He threw up his hands in defense and so Solan kicked him hard in the groin.

A quick, concerned glance over to Justin showed his man was down. Of the remaining two Silesans one turned and ran, while the other twitched in place, his eyes going to the good piled on the horses.

"Stay here and you won't be hurt!" he called as he darted past the stationary merchant in pursuit of the fleeing one. Resisting the momentary urge to bring the man down with his chakram he caught up to and tackled the trader. Drawing his sword he cowed any further resistance and led his captive back to the others.

"We won't harm you," he announced. "We just need to keep you away from Wayon."

Tara was already there with the rope and Justin was cutting off pieces to tie their prisoners' hands. Since they were foreigners and had not yet committed a crime, there was little point in taking the traders to Corinth. It would probably be best to turn them loose once the bandits had been dealt with. Still, at least the Silesians would have learned a lesson about what consorting with criminals could bring you!

"Ready?" he wanted to know of Justin once all the Silesians had been tied up.

"Are we ready?" Justin answered the question with a question. "You realize if this works out we'll have half a dozen prisoners, not enough food for any of them, and still be a day's journey from Corinth?"

"This was the only way we could stop them from selling the Urn!"

"I know, but it still seems like we should have planned this out a lot better than we did."

"We'll do that next time," Solan promised.

"Same way as before, Tara," he said, turning to address her. "Stay behind us, don't let them see you, and come in with the rope. Looks like we'll have just enough."

"What about these guys?" she asked, gesturing to the merchants.

"Keep the two swords, but we'll leave them here. They aren't going to cause any trouble for us now."

"And you're really not gonna kill any of the Red Valley guys?" she wanted to know.

"Not if we can avoid it," Solan assured her.

"Be careful," Tara urged him, her expression pinched and serious.

"We will be," Solan promised. He and Justin started towards the hill, eyes open and swords out.

Usually excited anticipation of the coming conflict would be the Warrior Prince's dominant emotion, but Tara's last words had stirred up a persistently nagging fear of his, one which he had to give voice to.

"Justin, I'll try to take everyone alive, and I know you'll do the same," Solan began carefully, speaking quietly enough so Tara couldn't overhear. "But if they don't give you any other choice, if it's too risky otherwise, you will-you will kill, won't you?"

"I have before when my life was at stake," the teen responded, his bitter tone only increasing the younger boy's worry.

"Please, Justin!" he outright begged, gaining the Turbo Ranger's full attention. "I don't want to see you wounded or worse!"

"We've already talked about this," the teenager reminded him gently. "If it's a matter of life or death I'll do what I have to."

"I'm sorry; I know it wouldn't be this way on your world."

"I'm not on my world anymore," Justin returned strongly. "And stopping this gang is still protecting the innocent. That's what Rangers do, on any world."

Solan nodded and there was no more talking as they climbed the heavily forested hill. Wayon really seemed to like concealed locations, an understandable affection for a bandit leader to have.

They slowly crept through the tall grass and bushes toward the crest of the hill and soon the flat top of the rise was in sight.

Near their side was a cart, while on the far side of the hill were two jet-black horses, saddled and bridled. In between were the bandits, all in similar-looking black leather vests. A man fitting Dorus' description of Wayon was there and in the cart was large sack, from the mouth of which protruded the top of the Urn of Apollo!

Solan's breath caught at the sight. The Urn was a foot tall, and what he could see of it was adorned with small gems and beautifully painted. Finally laying eyes on the artifact they'd come all this way to recover sent a hot surge of excitement through him. They were so close!

They actually could have burst out of hiding, seized the Urn, and fled, but then regaining Apollo's gift wasn't their only objective here.

"I'll come around the cart from the left, you come around from the right," he murmured to Justin. "We'll make sure we keep ourselves between them and the Urn. Drop them as fast as you can and if they get a chance to try to surround us we'll fight back-to-back. All right with you?"

"Yeah," Justin agreed. "Let's go."

They shot out of the cover of the grass toward the startled bandits. They should have had at least one sentry keeping watch, Solan thought disdainfully.

Nonetheless Wayon reacted with commendable speed, turning toward them and drawing his sword. Their blades crossed as Solan parried a cut at his head, then one to his right side.

Steel clashed against steel again as the bandit leader turned aside a thrust at his chest. In doing so, however, he created an opening for Solan's free fist to break his nose. He staggered back a step and in a single smooth motion the Warrior Prince disentangled his sword and swept the flat of the blade around to smash against the fingers gripping Wayon's weapon. He dropped it right before the pommel of Solan's sword struck him hard in the forehead.

The master of the robbers collapsed, but two of his men were already coming up behind him. Both looked to be in their mid twenties, the one on the left wearing a skullcap of black cloth while the one on the right had dark, spiked hair. As he readied himself to face the pair the one wearing the skullcap stopped and pointed behind him.

"Hey, she's got the Urn!" he cried.

Risking a quick backward glance he saw Tara streaking away from the cart, running parallel to his position, the sack with the Urn in it clutched tightly in her arms. What on Earth did she think she was doing? They could recover the Urn after the gang was subdued and secured! She certainly shouldn't be grabbing it now!

"I've got her!" the young auburn haired, earring-wearing man at the rear shouted. He took off after Tara while the other two thugs charged forward to avenge their beaten leader.

Solan leapt back to dodge one of his foe's attacks and blocked the other. He needed to finish this fast if he wanted to get to Tara in time! The preteen kicked out at the knee of the opponent wearing the rag and was rewarded with a sharp crack. The man dropped to his uninjured knee just in time to catch the underside of Solan's left boot in his face.

The Warrior Prince dealt with his remaining foe by catching the weapon-wielding wrist, twisting it, and hammering at the man's head with the hilt of his sword. The bandit dropped beside his partner and Solan's attention immediately shifted to Justin.

The former Ranger had one man down and was doing well against the other. He needed to help Tara, but he had to be sure Justin would be okay by himself first.

"Go!" Justin shouted at him, catching sight of him beyond the remaining enemy.

Even with this encouragement it took what felt like an eternity for him to make himself move. He couldn't help remembering how he'd left Jo alone with Will and had never seen her again. The thought of the same thing happening with Justin was unbearable, yet he couldn't abandon Tara to fight the bandit alone!

With a snarled oath he took off in the direction they'd disappeared. When he emerged from the edge of the treeline he stopped and his cerulean eyes swept worriedly over the landscape.

There! Off in the distance Tara was racing back to where they'd left the Silesians, the robber hot on her heels. Too far away to plant his chakram in the man's back, at least for now, Solan sheathed his sword and joined the race.

The Silesians were still lying bound hand and foot in a rough semicircle around the two white horses. Tara ran right past them to the first horse and threw off the goods it was carrying on its back. Instead of drawing his weapon the bandit slowed almost to a trot and he made no move against Tara. Placing the Urn on the ground she pulled herself up onto the animal's bare back.

She glanced around then and saw him, but no look of relief appeared on her face. Instead she shouted "Micah, he's coming!" to the bandit! The man spun around and now his sword came out of its scabbard, but Solan was aware of this only vaguely and peripherally; virtually all of his attention was now focused on Tara.

"Don't try to fight him!" she cried, again not addressing him. "Hand me the Urn and get on the other horse!"

The man, this _Micah_, didn't move at once, and even in the sudden coldness which had enveloped him Solan welcomed the adult's inaction; he was drawing closer by the second.

He was studying other male closely now, taking in every detail, contrasting and comparing. Yes, this bandit was obviously years older. He was taller, too, by a couple of inches. With his light brown hair, stubble, and well-formed features he would probably be considered fairly handsome by most girls.

But the open black leather vest he was wearing made it clear he didn't possess even half the amount of muscle Solan had already developed at the age of twelve. And as far as height and looks went, well, _he_ was damn tall and good-looking too! In the years to come he would only grow bigger and better, while this filth was fully grown now. And he was going to be a hero of Greece; Micah was nothing but a common criminal!

Yet Micah was the one Tara had chosen, not him.

Then the thug put his sword away, passed the Urn up to Tara, and scrambled for the other horse. Holding the Urn awkwardly balanced on the horse's back Tara hit her heels on the beast's flanks, causing it to explode into motion. Her partner did the same, following along behind her, heedless of the furious protests of the bound Silesians.

The Warrior Prince skidded to a halt a mere twenty feet away from them. Pleasant, bloody fantasies of hurling his chakram with sufficient force to literally cut Tara in half gave way in the face of his training. He had come all this way for the Urn, and he wanted it intact. It would probably break if it fell from her grasp. No, there was only one way to guarantee the artifact's safe recovery.

The circular, razor-sharp disc whistled through the air, striking and virtually severing the right foreleg of the white stallion Micah was riding. With a neigh of mingled pain and fear the animal collapsed in mid-gallop.

Solan had spent nearly his whole life in the Centaur village. He'd known Tinius, the Centaur who'd broken a leg when young and paid for it for life. Crippling a good horse this way should have left him wracked with guilt and remorse.

Instead he felt nothing.

Tara was already brining her mount to a halt, turning it, but he reached the scene first. Micah's right leg had been pinned beneath the prone, panicking steed. He had just managed to wriggle free when Solan's hands went around his chin and the back of his skull and savagely wrenched his head almost to the limit.

"Want to see how far I can twist it before it comes off?" he bellowed angrily at Tara. She stared at him from a dozen feet away, her face white as her horse. She licked her lips twice and swallowed.

"Solan-" she began, and the sound of his name from her lips kindled a far hotter fire in him than her touch last night had sparked.

"Shut up!" he screamed at her. Micah's hands were scrambling at his own now, and with vengeful satisfaction he cranked up the pressure another notch. "I'll snap it like a twig," he breathed, and the frantically questing hands went still.

"You want him to live? Give me the Urn!" Solan told the lying traitor.

"And you'll let us go?" Tara asked.

"Give. Me. The. Urn," he repeated, slowly and clearly.

"Tara, do it!" Micah groaned.

Careful to keep the jar balanced on the horse's neck she slid off to the ground and walked toward him.

"I didn't mean-"

"Set it down over there," he interrupted, making a motion with his head. She obeyed, putting the Urn about five feet away from him, toward the hillside where the bandits had been waiting.

"Now get back in front of me."

Again she obeyed and when he still didn't release Micah she actually began to get angry!

"Hey, I gave you the Urn! Let him go!"

"What was the plan, Tara?" he questioned, hardly recognizing his own voice. "Find a couple of fools who'd hit the bandits for you and then make off with the Urn while they were getting slaughtered? Was that it?"

The expression on her face was one of purest helplessness now, and knowing for himself the utter agony of that emotion he was thrilled to see her experiencing it.

What would she look like if he actually did rip her boyfriend's head off?

"Solan, what's going on?" a familiar, breathless voice asked him.

He hadn't even noticed the fourth person's approach, and he almost jumped at the unexpected question. He tore his gaze away from Tara and turned to see Justin panting slightly, standing just beyond the Urn of Apollo.

"Tara betrayed us," he confided to his only friend, the one person in the world he could trust. "She and her boyfriend here were using us so they could steal the Urn from Wayon and the others!"

There was a long pause during which no one in the little tableau moved. Then the former Turbo Ranger spoke with great calmness and care.

"Solan, you need to let him go."

"Why should I?" the twelve year-old demanded, almost petulantly. It would be so easy to kill Micah; it would hardly take any effort. Just a twist of his wrists, that was all. He could do it in under a second.

"You agreed we'd do our best to take the gang members alive. You promised me, Solan!" Justin reminded his partner urgently. "You don't have to kill him."

"But I _want_ to kill him," the Warrior Prince admitted, with what could have been either a laugh or a sob in his voice.

"I know you do," Justin said gently, slowly stepping closer. "But you also told me you wanted to be a hero. This isn't what heroes do."

Those words struck to the very core of him and he couldn't help turning to look at Justin. When their gazes locked the older boy spoke again.

"Let him go, Solan. Please!"

He looked down at Micah . . . and released the piece of vermin, rising as if to get as far away from him as possible. He took a step in Justin's direction, feeling so very weary.

Justin sighed and smiled, continuing toward Solan.

Tara started to cry and rush to her boyfriend.

Micah lay prone and moved his head from side to side, wincing at the pain.

Then he reached down and drew his sword.

The whisper of the metal leaving its leather scabbard seemed the loudest sound in the meadow. From that point on everything happened at once, with tragic inevitability.

Solan pivoted in place toward the threat, lashing out with his right foot.

"No!" Justin exclaimed, eyes wide and hands reaching toward the scene fruitlessly. By the time the single word had left his mouth Solan's boot had already struck Micah in the head with more than enough power to fracture the man's skull and break the bandit's neck.

"Micah!" Tara gasped, dropping to her knees by the limp and still figure.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

No! NO! He'd talked Solan down! It didn't have to be like this!

Tara knelt weeping over the body, while Solan stared at the corpse as if mesmerized, not speaking, not moving, perhaps not even breathing. He didn't react to Justin's presence at his side or to the sound of his own name. At the last second the teenager stopped himself from touching his friend.

"Solan!" he said again, louder.

Slowly his friend turned to face him, wearing a lost and dazed look.

"It's done," Justin emphasized. "Don't think about it now. We have to get moving."

Solan's brow furrowed, as though he was having trouble understanding what Justin was saying.

"There was no way for me to tie the bandits up; I don't know what Tara did with the rope. We have to be ready if they come for us."

"I've got — I've got to get my chakram," Solan offered softly.

"Where is it?"

The Warrior Prince pointed out beyond the maimed stallion, which tried and failed again to stand.

"Got get it," Justin urged him. Then he looked at the suffering horse. "Solan-"

"I'll take care of it," the Warrior Prince assured him in a dull tone, already starting that way.

With him gone Justin looked at Tara, still on her knees and whispering Micah's name. She had used and betrayed them, but she had paid for it. It surprised him that he was still able to feel anger toward her, and surprised him even more that his anger wasn't for the life needlessly lost; it was for what she had done to Solan.

Leaving her he moved over to stand protectively before the Urn. A few minutes later the Warrior Prince came trotting back, his chakram on his belt and the horse now as silent and still as the man. He was sure he could make out a splash of red on the white chest and so he quickly looked away.

Picking up the Urn, which was much lighter than he had expected, Justin tried to decide what to do next. There was still no sign of bandit pursuit, and no sign of Tara's attention shifting to them anytime soon.

"Let's let the Silesians go," he suggested.

The traders rage at the death of their animal was obvious, but they knew better than to try anything. Justin warned them that any false moves would lead to their deaths and apparently they believed him. He was even able to learn the whereabouts of the nearest village from one of them.

"Did you want to try to tackle the bandits again?" Justin queried as the foreigners went to reclaim their remaining horse.

"No. If they haven't fled they'll be ready for us. Let's just get the Urn back to Dorus."

Justin was grateful to hear him say that, since Solan seemed to be in no shape for a fight at the moment. Looking over again at the body he saw Tara had risen and was running flat out, directly away from them.

"Let her go," Solan said quietly, following Justin's gaze. "Just . . . let her go."

They reclaimed their backpacks and journeyed silently to the nearest town. Solan insisted they shouldn't take the Urn in and volunteered to stay hidden nearby and wait for Justin to return with provisions. In spite of his misgivings, the fourteen year-old agreed to this plan and was relieved when he came back to find his friend still there.

With their supplies of food restored they progressed further than halfway to Corinth before stopping for the night, some distance from the road. Dinner was a silent affair and though Solan always sparred even on his rest days, he only shook his head when Justin asked him about it. Once the former Ranger had finished his own work-out, however, the Warrior Prince spoke from the other side of the camp fire.

"We'll have to take turns standing watch tonight. We have the Urn now and the best way to steal it from us is to slay us in our sleep. We could be found and ambushed by Wayon and his men, the Silesians," there was a fractional pause as he swallowed, "or Tara."

"Solan, I'm sorry about Tara," Justin said lamely. His words were inadequate, he knew, but he had to say _something_, had to make some kind of move to broach the topic and break this oppressive silence.

"What are you sorry for? You were right about her all along," the twelve year-old spat out, his face hard and his jaw tightly clenched.

"I'm sorry she hurt you. And I wasn't right about her; I just wasn't willing to give her a chance. You were, and that was the right thing to do."

"It was right to give her a chance to use us? To betray us?" Solan shouted, his fists clenched now and his eyes suspiciously shiny.

"Yes. You gave her an opportunity to be good; that's all you can do."

"Never again," the younger boy swore with bitter, passionate conviction as he stared down into the fire. "I won't let myself be betrayed again."

Was he talking about Tara . . . or was he speaking about _everyone_? Either way it was understandable, given all of the manipulation and backstabbing Solan had suffered in the past few months. The teenager felt deeply for his friend, but he could think of only one way to offer comfort.

"You know I'll always have your back, don't you?"

The frighteningly angry intensity faded away as Solan glanced up at him.

"Of course," he said, and smiled. It was small, it was weak, and it trembled around the edges, but it was a genuine smile and the sight of it lightened Justin's heart.

Moving around the fire he clasped his friend's right hand and was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, an act which simultaneously expressed both Solan's great physical strength and his desperate emotional vulnerability. Justin submitted to the painfully crushing embrace in silence, doing his best to be the rock the younger boy clearly required.

Solan didn't _deserve_ this! He'd suffered enough already without also getting his heart broken by his first crush! Justin wished he had something profound to say, wise words which could take away the pain. Instead all he could do was simply be there-but maybe that was enough.

Justin seriously considered leaving the last issue until tomorrow, but as with the day's silence he was afraid it would grow more difficult to address if he delayed doing so. And he could not let the matter fall by the wayside. It was important, for both their sakes, to know exactly how far Tara's treachery had pushed her victim. How badly had she broken him?

He waited until he had settled into his bedroll, Solan having volunteered to take first watch.

"Solan, you wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

The look Justin received in response embodied wide-eyed, wounded outrage.

"Never! Why would you even ask me that?" the Warrior Prince cried furiously.

"I had to make sure, because there's something I need to know," Justin paused, taking a breath. "When Micah drew his sword, did you kill him because you were upset and your training took over? Or did you kill him because you wanted him dead? Which was it?"

There was a long silence. Then Solan quietly answered his question with three words.

"I don't know."

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Dorus feared he was dreaming when he saw the two teens reenter his temple, the hulking blond son of Xena proudly brandishing the blessed Urn of Apollo! Reverently he took the holy artifact into his trembling hands, swiftly placing it on the floor.

"Theopilus! Bring water for the urn!" he turned to urge his acolyte and the boy hurried to obey.

"Thank you!" he said turning back to the duo, his voice thick with emotion. "You have done a great service for Apollo and for all who will come here seeking forgiveness! You can't know the suffering that you have helped to lift."

"That's what we do," Xena's progeny assured him. "Let your worshippers know that Solan, Warrior Prince, and Justin have restored the Urn to you."

Dorus blinked, a little surprised, but replied, "I promise you I will. What else can I offer you in thanks?"

"We don't need a reward," the auburn-haired boy announced. "We were glad to help."

Theopilius hurried to the Urn with a pitcher, carefully pouring water into the sacred vessel.

"At least let me bestow upon you the cleansing of Apollo," he said to them.

The one who had spoken nodded uncertainly, but the other shook his head.

"Solan?" his companion asked him.

"You go ahead, Justin. I'll be waiting outside."

Solan turned and left the temple, his partner looking after him worriedly.

"Are you ready?" Dorus asked.

The boy turned back toward him, his expression smoothing out. Dorus dipped his fingers into the water and anointed the young man's forehead.

"Your sins are forgiven. Go now and do good."

The familiar look of peace and tranquility settled for an instant on Justin and Dorus gave thanks to his god for the Urn's restoration through these young heroes' hands.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Solan stood just beyond the temple doors.

His refusal would concern Justin, he knew, but there was nothing to be done about that. It wouldn't have been right for him to accept the cleric's offer. He had sought to return the Urn as visible proof of their heroism, as a way of helping people, and as a blow struck against evil; he had never intended to benefit from the artifact himself.

He could not submit to Apollo's cleaning. Not because his sins were unforgivable, but because he knew he would someday slay the sun god; he would slay ALL of the Greek gods and goddesses! That was his destiny, according to Archon. So let Apollo keep his forgiveness, and extend it if he could on the day he fell before the might of the Warrior Prince.

Until that time Solan would work for the good of all Grecians, battle the spread of darkness, and enjoy every moment he had with his sole friend. For he knew now that on the day he at last gained the power to return Justin to the latter's own world, then he would truly be alone.

**THE END**

Notes: I just can't bring myself to abandon these two characters, not when there's so much more story left to tell! I'm going to keep writing stories about Solan and Justin no matter what, but some reviews would help reassure me that I'm not just wasting my time posting those tales here. I know I enjoy them; does anyone else?


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